Brain is melting.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Damned if you Do and Damned if you Don't
I never wanted this thing to be open to "invited readers only". that's bullshit that people do to make you feel like you're part of some kind of exclusive club. Oh, i don't want so and so reading what i wrote, i don't want them in my head, it'll give them too much of an edge against me. But sometimes i can understand how that can be your only way out, keeping things private, because this is the internet, and people stumble across this thing every so often and read. If you don't know me personally it's much easier to just take it for what it is, but if you are around me, than i can see how these words can affect our relationship as friends, confidants, and even lovers. I took this site down several times, changed the name, moved to a different address and such, but i always felt an emptiness after that, as if by doing so i was cheating myself. Finally i said, "fuck it." and figured that if someone can read these words and find some solace in them, or read these words and say, "hey, i feel like that sometimes too." than maybe i was doing something right. This is what i know, and this is how i sift through the madness of life. Some people paint, some people write, other people drink heavily. I cannot drink heavily (coming from an alcoholic family.) so i've got to find an outlet that will make me not want to destroy the world. We all have the liberty to click that little "x" in the corner of our windows to close out this box and clean our minds from this. But for some reason, it always seems like whoever it is at the time, refuses to do so, and they continue on, into the layers of this bullshit to try and find some meaning in it.
I'm trying to be the best guy that i can be, and always trying to be a better person than what i am. I want to find at least some kind of tangible truth in my life, and writing it all down seems to me like the positive way to draw a more peaceful existence. But words do hurt. But is that not the price we pay in order to move forward? Am i selfish by indulging myself in sex, violence, women, fine drink and madness? Yes i very well may be fucked up int he head, or i may like these things the same way some people like sports or backgammon. We're all different.
My point is that i've hurt several people with the things i've written here. But alas, if i get rid of these words, then i may have no where else to rid myself of all of this, and it may come out in other aspects of my life. I was an angry man, a mean person, a loner for so long, and just when i think i may be doing something right, i turn around and become brave, too brave perhaps for my own well being. Now i have a choice, do i take the site down to satisfy those in my life who feel hurt by me? Or do i keep it up and let them keep reading, keep judging me for who i really am under the black shirt and jeans i wear everyday?
In the end, you have to live with yourself for as long as you got until your time card gets punched. And by doing so, do i live for others or do i live for me? It's easy to say, "Oh, Live for YOURSELF." But in reality, does it really sound that great? Do you know how many people i've pushed away with simple words? Do you know how much flak i've got for a story that wasn't even true, but i made sound like it was my own? Do i even care that you care? I do care. I'm not a heartless bastard for god's sake! I'm a human. and you're a human.
anytime someone is mean to me, hurtful, or just downright vindictive i look at my own behavior and say, "What did i do to make them react this way? Why are they so mad at me? How did i hurt them?"
I think that when reading what i wrote, you shouldn't be pointing your finger at me, and telling me that i'm a bad person, or that i judge people, or that i'm just a drunk stupid asshole. Maybe, if you think i'm talking about you somewhere (which is self indulgent on your part) maybe you should ask yourself what you did to piss me off in the first place? I have never heard a heartfelt apology from anybody in my life. Maybe instead of judging me for what i wrote, you should be asking what it is that made me want to write these things? A book is a book and words are words, none of it matters unless you make it matter. What's that saying? For the one finger you point at me there's three pointed right back and one pointed to god (if you believe in that fucker).
maybe the world's just fucked up and i'm trying to figure it out one word at a time? That's more than you can say for yourself. Or is it?
pull the safety off and cock and Que your thumb for action.
pull the safety off and cock and Que your thumb for action.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Now What am I going to Do for a Friend?
Give me a few minutes of your time.
Just as a heads up, this will take at least 20mins of your time, so if you can't spare that much, then don't even try.
I started thinking to myself about movies that made me cry. I don't remember the last time i cried in real life. It must of been at least when i was 18, or before that. I wondered what it was about these movies that really got to me, and after a few good pints, a few slugs off the bottle, i got to thinking, and it led me way further down that hole than i ever wanted to go.
Lets start with the ending to Gran Torino. Lets, for a moment, put aside all of the bullshit about bad acting and story arc and blah blah blah. Let's go straight for the heart, straight for the core of the movie. This isn't a father-son relationship. It came across more as two people from different cultures, different times, and different lives who somehow stumble upon being friends. In any case, one wonders why they are friends with someone in the first place? I believe that ground lays upon selfishness, you obviously see that the person has something to offer and inject into your life, something that you would like to be exposed to, so your curiosity wonders what it is about this person that intrigues you? They both exchange from the benefit, Walt gets someone that he can sift all of his shit onto and Thao gets a friend who can show him the ropes of the real world. Through the madness they tolerate each other's opposition but refer back to their initial tether, which keeps them both at bay together. They have this basic acceptance, not a racial acceptance, not a gender acceptance, not even a generation acceptance, but an acceptance as a human with something to offer greater than the slow drawl of life.
What makes me cry at the end of this movie, each and every time, is the scene above. Walt is a no bullshit kind of guy, he calls it like he sees it, and although everyone tries to put that label on themselves, when it really comes down to being honest and knowing that you'll possibly hurt someones feelings, Walt pulls through and spits it straight from inside without any kind of filter. A man like me can appreciate that. "The Unforgiving Truth." As the lawyer reads his will, with straight honesty from a deceased Walt, his grand daughter has a look of hope in her eyes. This makes me happy, because as the crushing blow of reality comes down on her, and the following words are said: my friend... Thao Vang Lor. On the condition that you don't chop-top the roof like one of those beaners, don't paint any idiotic flames on it like some white trash hillbilly, and don't put a big, gay spoiler on the rear end like you see on all the other zipperheads' cars. It just looks like hell. If you can refrain from doing any of that... it's yours.
.... Disappointment washes over her dead eyes. I often wonder how women react to this part of the movie. This is where i begin to tear up. They as friends, have gone through so much, and now, something that was merely an object has this unobtainable value that no one except Thao can understand. That my dear friends, is like giving a stranger a rock, and they toss it onto the curb. But giving someone who you helped dig that rock out with the same item, holds value in it, because you both have this understanding that is only between you and them. A friend. It's a gift that you can never say "thank you" or give back to. A final blow to the heart of love.
Now lets move onto Slc Punk. Steve-O and Heroine Bob are friends since early years. Bob strikes me as that kind of good hearted friend who is slightly naive but also critical and logical, although when drunk, can become way to critical of himself and wonder about his existence. I clicked with this movie, because I can share Bobs look in the mirror, wondering just what the fuck was going on, and how it got this far? And also riding home and spilling my heart about marriage, parents, and all the other horseshit babble we had to grow up with. (i understand that i am not special. We all had these problems growing up and dealt with them in one way or another.) But what really kills me about this last part is watching Steve-O realize that his only friend he ever had, his only friend that shared any kind of connection with, is laying there dead. It is true, that no one is ever ready for that, and it is also true, that only posers die you fucking idiot. But on the first plane, the thing that grabs me, is that no matter how much they battle through, (bobs dad trying to shoot them. Bob falling in love with Trish and leaving Steve-o out in the cold, bob moving on with his life, steve-o trying to move on with his, but feeling beaten by everyones happiness) they still revert back to that tether they had, that friendship, that simple thing that can never properly be described with justice, but only hold static in the air forever.
Both movies hold the same traits for me. Acceptance, understanding, a comradery that runs so deep it could never be fully understood except by the parties involved. I have this now with my roommate who i call my brother. Theres this thing between us, that no matter how far we push each other, we know when to come back and how exactly to come back in the right way. There's inside jokes, small bits of humor that anyone outside of this apartment will never understand. Walt and Thao, Steve-o and Bob. I wondered why these movies made me cry, and i figured it was the loss of someone who only you truly know. My next step was wondering how i could transfer those same feelings that are shared with a best friend onto a relationship between myself and a woman. That's a tough one.
Women were always a mystery to me, a mystery and a prize. I don't see how a woman can ever really be attracted to a man. We're fat, we smell, we're sweaty and somewhat dense, in short, we have nothing attractive about us. But a woman on the other hand, well shit... come on now... you're soft and sensual, even if you're rough and hard, you still have those frilly edges whether you like them or not. Your skin is soft, eyes like diamonds, hair like a Persian rug and the style of a cat. If men are dogs, then i'm glad women are cats. Sexy fucking cats.
Friendships involve a certain amount of respect and honesty. Everyone in a relationship demands honesty to a point, but is it really honestly honesty that you can handle? Yeah i said it twice. It makes sense. Go back and read it again. Okay, i feel that i may be dwindling off to a track on the wrong line. So give me a goddamn break to grab some more rum.
Alright, so first things fucking last, we've come this far, and all of this heavy drinking has seemed to clear my mind a bit as oppose to fogging it up. What is this mysterious air that keeps us from loving our wife like we love our brother? I believe it involves power. There's a power struggle in relationships between men and women. It's there, you can always feel it. In my life, i always had low self esteem. i fucking hate myself, and that's cool, i learned to live with it, i can't really see why a woman would like me or even be attracted to me in any sense, but i do know that i've got some value, something to offer, something solid and noteworthy, but i also know that i'm not any different than the other millions and billions of people here, so i don't really sweat that part of the equation. I'm good to you if you're good to me, and that's what it comes down to. Respect. Respect over power. But the tidy line is that you cannot demand respect or power from me, but must earn it. You've got to show me that under all that beauty lies something worth taking the time to figure out, understand, and ultimately fondle under my flannel blankets in our cold apartment. When I'm sick you come to me, and when you're sick I come to you. Soup for you, soup for me. Whats that? You just got in a car accident? Well shit, let me call work to cancel the day and come right over. But i won't do these things for you unless i know you're willing to go to bat for me, and the only way to know these things is to tackle them as they come.
I think about the previous women in my life, and although they were beautiful, and wonderful, i couldn't ever really see myself being honest with them. Because my honesty is to a fault, i bleed negativity and cynicism with small trace elements of hope and wonderlust. My humor is dark and makes sense in my head, but probably comes across as some gurgling sound. I am a difficult man to understand (or so i think) but i also don't make it easy for others to become close to me, because i cannot tolerate any kind of horse or bullshit. But you have to give in to get a little back. Vis a Vis.
Then i wonder if perhaps i came to this conclusion out of trying to find a peaceful understand in my relationship with the woman. This is a two sided street. On one hand, the alcohol and cigarettes mixed with the amphetamines may perhaps be making me delusional and stray away from reality (i just caught myself drooling).
On the other hand, maybe i am trying to take the small bits of my life that are true and decently understood, and honest, and finding a way to incorporate those into something that i know inside feels real, but is clouded with my previous inhibitions about the opposite sex and their mysterious ways of doing things. I feel as though this may be a step forth in the correct direction as i'm growing up. I see myself letting go of all those things i thought were great before, but now just seem lost and childish, and embracing things that have a value, a genuine purpose, something that is no longer abstract and vague, but solid and i can really grab a hold of. I want what I damn well want and don't want what they tell me i should want. Life is not without it's time wasting ability to live until you've driven yourself mad.
Just as a heads up, this will take at least 20mins of your time, so if you can't spare that much, then don't even try.
and now watch this:
I started thinking to myself about movies that made me cry. I don't remember the last time i cried in real life. It must of been at least when i was 18, or before that. I wondered what it was about these movies that really got to me, and after a few good pints, a few slugs off the bottle, i got to thinking, and it led me way further down that hole than i ever wanted to go.
Lets start with the ending to Gran Torino. Lets, for a moment, put aside all of the bullshit about bad acting and story arc and blah blah blah. Let's go straight for the heart, straight for the core of the movie. This isn't a father-son relationship. It came across more as two people from different cultures, different times, and different lives who somehow stumble upon being friends. In any case, one wonders why they are friends with someone in the first place? I believe that ground lays upon selfishness, you obviously see that the person has something to offer and inject into your life, something that you would like to be exposed to, so your curiosity wonders what it is about this person that intrigues you? They both exchange from the benefit, Walt gets someone that he can sift all of his shit onto and Thao gets a friend who can show him the ropes of the real world. Through the madness they tolerate each other's opposition but refer back to their initial tether, which keeps them both at bay together. They have this basic acceptance, not a racial acceptance, not a gender acceptance, not even a generation acceptance, but an acceptance as a human with something to offer greater than the slow drawl of life.
What makes me cry at the end of this movie, each and every time, is the scene above. Walt is a no bullshit kind of guy, he calls it like he sees it, and although everyone tries to put that label on themselves, when it really comes down to being honest and knowing that you'll possibly hurt someones feelings, Walt pulls through and spits it straight from inside without any kind of filter. A man like me can appreciate that. "The Unforgiving Truth." As the lawyer reads his will, with straight honesty from a deceased Walt, his grand daughter has a look of hope in her eyes. This makes me happy, because as the crushing blow of reality comes down on her, and the following words are said: my friend... Thao Vang Lor. On the condition that you don't chop-top the roof like one of those beaners, don't paint any idiotic flames on it like some white trash hillbilly, and don't put a big, gay spoiler on the rear end like you see on all the other zipperheads' cars. It just looks like hell. If you can refrain from doing any of that... it's yours.
.... Disappointment washes over her dead eyes. I often wonder how women react to this part of the movie. This is where i begin to tear up. They as friends, have gone through so much, and now, something that was merely an object has this unobtainable value that no one except Thao can understand. That my dear friends, is like giving a stranger a rock, and they toss it onto the curb. But giving someone who you helped dig that rock out with the same item, holds value in it, because you both have this understanding that is only between you and them. A friend. It's a gift that you can never say "thank you" or give back to. A final blow to the heart of love.
Now lets move onto Slc Punk. Steve-O and Heroine Bob are friends since early years. Bob strikes me as that kind of good hearted friend who is slightly naive but also critical and logical, although when drunk, can become way to critical of himself and wonder about his existence. I clicked with this movie, because I can share Bobs look in the mirror, wondering just what the fuck was going on, and how it got this far? And also riding home and spilling my heart about marriage, parents, and all the other horseshit babble we had to grow up with. (i understand that i am not special. We all had these problems growing up and dealt with them in one way or another.) But what really kills me about this last part is watching Steve-O realize that his only friend he ever had, his only friend that shared any kind of connection with, is laying there dead. It is true, that no one is ever ready for that, and it is also true, that only posers die you fucking idiot. But on the first plane, the thing that grabs me, is that no matter how much they battle through, (bobs dad trying to shoot them. Bob falling in love with Trish and leaving Steve-o out in the cold, bob moving on with his life, steve-o trying to move on with his, but feeling beaten by everyones happiness) they still revert back to that tether they had, that friendship, that simple thing that can never properly be described with justice, but only hold static in the air forever.
Both movies hold the same traits for me. Acceptance, understanding, a comradery that runs so deep it could never be fully understood except by the parties involved. I have this now with my roommate who i call my brother. Theres this thing between us, that no matter how far we push each other, we know when to come back and how exactly to come back in the right way. There's inside jokes, small bits of humor that anyone outside of this apartment will never understand. Walt and Thao, Steve-o and Bob. I wondered why these movies made me cry, and i figured it was the loss of someone who only you truly know. My next step was wondering how i could transfer those same feelings that are shared with a best friend onto a relationship between myself and a woman. That's a tough one.
Women were always a mystery to me, a mystery and a prize. I don't see how a woman can ever really be attracted to a man. We're fat, we smell, we're sweaty and somewhat dense, in short, we have nothing attractive about us. But a woman on the other hand, well shit... come on now... you're soft and sensual, even if you're rough and hard, you still have those frilly edges whether you like them or not. Your skin is soft, eyes like diamonds, hair like a Persian rug and the style of a cat. If men are dogs, then i'm glad women are cats. Sexy fucking cats.
Friendships involve a certain amount of respect and honesty. Everyone in a relationship demands honesty to a point, but is it really honestly honesty that you can handle? Yeah i said it twice. It makes sense. Go back and read it again. Okay, i feel that i may be dwindling off to a track on the wrong line. So give me a goddamn break to grab some more rum.
Alright, so first things fucking last, we've come this far, and all of this heavy drinking has seemed to clear my mind a bit as oppose to fogging it up. What is this mysterious air that keeps us from loving our wife like we love our brother? I believe it involves power. There's a power struggle in relationships between men and women. It's there, you can always feel it. In my life, i always had low self esteem. i fucking hate myself, and that's cool, i learned to live with it, i can't really see why a woman would like me or even be attracted to me in any sense, but i do know that i've got some value, something to offer, something solid and noteworthy, but i also know that i'm not any different than the other millions and billions of people here, so i don't really sweat that part of the equation. I'm good to you if you're good to me, and that's what it comes down to. Respect. Respect over power. But the tidy line is that you cannot demand respect or power from me, but must earn it. You've got to show me that under all that beauty lies something worth taking the time to figure out, understand, and ultimately fondle under my flannel blankets in our cold apartment. When I'm sick you come to me, and when you're sick I come to you. Soup for you, soup for me. Whats that? You just got in a car accident? Well shit, let me call work to cancel the day and come right over. But i won't do these things for you unless i know you're willing to go to bat for me, and the only way to know these things is to tackle them as they come.
I think about the previous women in my life, and although they were beautiful, and wonderful, i couldn't ever really see myself being honest with them. Because my honesty is to a fault, i bleed negativity and cynicism with small trace elements of hope and wonderlust. My humor is dark and makes sense in my head, but probably comes across as some gurgling sound. I am a difficult man to understand (or so i think) but i also don't make it easy for others to become close to me, because i cannot tolerate any kind of horse or bullshit. But you have to give in to get a little back. Vis a Vis.
Then i wonder if perhaps i came to this conclusion out of trying to find a peaceful understand in my relationship with the woman. This is a two sided street. On one hand, the alcohol and cigarettes mixed with the amphetamines may perhaps be making me delusional and stray away from reality (i just caught myself drooling).
On the other hand, maybe i am trying to take the small bits of my life that are true and decently understood, and honest, and finding a way to incorporate those into something that i know inside feels real, but is clouded with my previous inhibitions about the opposite sex and their mysterious ways of doing things. I feel as though this may be a step forth in the correct direction as i'm growing up. I see myself letting go of all those things i thought were great before, but now just seem lost and childish, and embracing things that have a value, a genuine purpose, something that is no longer abstract and vague, but solid and i can really grab a hold of. I want what I damn well want and don't want what they tell me i should want. Life is not without it's time wasting ability to live until you've driven yourself mad.
I Actually Enjoy This Kinda Response
On Mon, Aug 30, 2010 at 8:58 PM, Alex Rocha <alex_rocha83@hotmail.com> wrote:
> Editor,
> My name is Alexander Rocha, i'm from Los Angeles, and here is a nice
> poem dribbled from the mind of a 25 year old pervert. You guys have been
> real good to me before, i dig your style, so i figure i'd send along the
> good ones that i write out every once in a while.
> please enjoy
> -thanks
> alexander rocha
Response:
Mad Greetings, Alex Rocha!
Well, we gotta say, although we appreciate the grit and honesty in
"Separation of State", we feel it's a bit raw for the Swirl.
We like your previous submissions and ask you to continue submitting
your poetry. You've got a unique voice and point of view we think is
great for the Swirl. We just feel that this one will likely peave
more folks than it pleases. OK, it's our opinion - we editors are a
subjective lot.
Let's see more . . .
Really!
Peace,
MH@Mad
The Poem
> Editor,
> My name is Alexander Rocha, i'm from Los Angeles, and here is a nice
> poem dribbled from the mind of a 25 year old pervert. You guys have been
> real good to me before, i dig your style, so i figure i'd send along the
> good ones that i write out every once in a while.
> please enjoy
> -thanks
> alexander rocha
Response:
Mad Greetings, Alex Rocha!
Well, we gotta say, although we appreciate the grit and honesty in
"Separation of State", we feel it's a bit raw for the Swirl.
We like your previous submissions and ask you to continue submitting
your poetry. You've got a unique voice and point of view we think is
great for the Swirl. We just feel that this one will likely peave
more folks than it pleases. OK, it's our opinion - we editors are a
subjective lot.
Let's see more . . .
Really!
Peace,
MH@Mad
The Poem
Separation of State
my cock and balls are calling for you
they long for your warm embrace
they want to be held and fondled
and smothered in your face
my cock and balls are yearning for you
burning to be in your mouth
as the saliva drips down from your lips
and lands on the stripped, stained, comforter of my bed
and all the while
you stare at me with those big doe eyes
my cock and balls want to be held
in your hands, in your warm loving smell
they want to be nuzzled between your legs
as we spoon on that forgotten cloud
until they can't take it anymore
my cock and balls,
they want to scream out loud
my cock and balls want some action
they want to be apart of your party
be apart of your sex
to bathe themselves in your juices
wiggle between those luscious thighs waiting for you to call them in
they long for your warm embrace
they want to be held and fondled
and smothered in your face
my cock and balls are yearning for you
burning to be in your mouth
as the saliva drips down from your lips
and lands on the stripped, stained, comforter of my bed
and all the while
you stare at me with those big doe eyes
my cock and balls want to be held
in your hands, in your warm loving smell
they want to be nuzzled between your legs
as we spoon on that forgotten cloud
until they can't take it anymore
my cock and balls,
they want to scream out loud
my cock and balls want some action
they want to be apart of your party
be apart of your sex
to bathe themselves in your juices
wiggle between those luscious thighs waiting for you to call them in
and crawl
my cock and balls don't care what you've done
what you've said
what you are
or what you claim to be
they merely want you to fuck them
and squeeze the juice from the tree on my trunk
onto your face, your chest, your back, and anywhere they can reach
my cock and balls don't care that you're
empty inside
as long as those juices continue to flow
my cock and balls will be there for you
but me,
my honesty
my longevity to you
it never won't
my cock and balls don't care what you've done
what you've said
what you are
or what you claim to be
they merely want you to fuck them
and squeeze the juice from the tree on my trunk
onto your face, your chest, your back, and anywhere they can reach
my cock and balls don't care that you're
empty inside
as long as those juices continue to flow
my cock and balls will be there for you
but me,
my honesty
my longevity to you
it never won't
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Hearts of Men
I'm not tall,
I'm not handsome,
I'm not good looking at all.
I don't have a nice smile
i don't have a great attitude,
neither do I have money
a sign of upancomings,
or any kind of stature.
I'm losing my hair
at the tender age of 25,
I thought this shit wasn't suppose to happen until i'm 30 at least?
but better than i know
i'm losing it now,
than losing it at 35
or 40
and create some kind of bullshit
mid-life crisis
or 1/4 life crisis (which only fools have)
to try and feel better about themselves.
I'm tired,
I tolerate everything
my job
my girlfriend
my friends
my life,
because i have to.
I have to tolerate all this shit.
and that in itself
proves a mans worth.
We have no choice to.
If not, we'd end up like Thoreau
writing some sorry collections of words.
Stringing together some bullshit recollection of how things should be
and how we can't live with them.
So we have two choices now,
either we move away from all the bullshit
and eventually become Ted Kaczynski
or we learn to live with it.
I want to love (which is a preconceived notion planted in our heads by society)
I really don't think you understand it.
We are not manwhores
we are not bad people
that's just your inner defense pushing us away
but sooner than later
we'll stop being patient with you
and just walk away
because that's what we do.
Don't be so cynical
or jaded
you're getting old and i can see it
from here
don't be such a bitch
so bad inside as a person
we're trying the best we can
the hardest we can push
and if that's not enough for you
than go fuck with somebody else's life
because at least
at the end
we can say
we did everything in our power to make you happy.
Do you know
how fucking lucky you even are?
in this time and age
to have a guy who will even listen to your babbling bullshit?
We're trying to be good
but your cynicism makes us bad
so you
EVE
made us eat the apple
that damned us forever
and it goes on
for ages and ages
until we can't go with you any further
and we hate you
you made us hate you
with your jealousy
with your lousy stupid attitude
with your questions
with your stupid fights over nothing
with you wanting us to be respectful
but still be men.
We are men
trying to be good to you
and you're so fucking blind
that you can't even see that.
and when we walk away
from a bad situation
we are damned the bad men in this
when in reality
you did nothing to help
you did nothing to understand
you only pushed
and pushed
and fucking pushed
us until we were gone
and you have no one to blame
but your fucked up self
you in the inside are rotten
while at least we make an attempt to be good.
we try
we try oh so hard
you on the other hand
just expect.
expect everything.
and that,
well,
i could be honest
but i rather be good.
that's just rotten to the core.
you've got worms
infecting your brain
and your head should be fumigated.
don't be so horrible
don't expect us to be perfect
because we're not
but at least we fucking TRY
we TRY to be the guy you could love
while we
we have to love you for all your faults
all your fucked up inhibitions
all your badness
while you only point out the badness in us.
we want to love you fully
completely
utterly until death
but you
are the one who complicates
everything
and this.
this.
this.
leaves us with no choice
but to be dicks.
I'm not handsome,
I'm not good looking at all.
I don't have a nice smile
i don't have a great attitude,
neither do I have money
a sign of upancomings,
or any kind of stature.
I'm losing my hair
at the tender age of 25,
I thought this shit wasn't suppose to happen until i'm 30 at least?
but better than i know
i'm losing it now,
than losing it at 35
or 40
and create some kind of bullshit
mid-life crisis
or 1/4 life crisis (which only fools have)
to try and feel better about themselves.
I'm tired,
I tolerate everything
my job
my girlfriend
my friends
my life,
because i have to.
I have to tolerate all this shit.
and that in itself
proves a mans worth.
We have no choice to.
If not, we'd end up like Thoreau
writing some sorry collections of words.
Stringing together some bullshit recollection of how things should be
and how we can't live with them.
So we have two choices now,
either we move away from all the bullshit
and eventually become Ted Kaczynski
or we learn to live with it.
I want to love (which is a preconceived notion planted in our heads by society)
I really don't think you understand it.
We are not manwhores
we are not bad people
that's just your inner defense pushing us away
but sooner than later
we'll stop being patient with you
and just walk away
because that's what we do.
Don't be so cynical
or jaded
you're getting old and i can see it
from here
don't be such a bitch
so bad inside as a person
we're trying the best we can
the hardest we can push
and if that's not enough for you
than go fuck with somebody else's life
because at least
at the end
we can say
we did everything in our power to make you happy.
Do you know
how fucking lucky you even are?
in this time and age
to have a guy who will even listen to your babbling bullshit?
We're trying to be good
but your cynicism makes us bad
so you
EVE
made us eat the apple
that damned us forever
and it goes on
for ages and ages
until we can't go with you any further
and we hate you
you made us hate you
with your jealousy
with your lousy stupid attitude
with your questions
with your stupid fights over nothing
with you wanting us to be respectful
but still be men.
We are men
trying to be good to you
and you're so fucking blind
that you can't even see that.
and when we walk away
from a bad situation
we are damned the bad men in this
when in reality
you did nothing to help
you did nothing to understand
you only pushed
and pushed
and fucking pushed
us until we were gone
and you have no one to blame
but your fucked up self
you in the inside are rotten
while at least we make an attempt to be good.
we try
we try oh so hard
you on the other hand
just expect.
expect everything.
and that,
well,
i could be honest
but i rather be good.
that's just rotten to the core.
you've got worms
infecting your brain
and your head should be fumigated.
don't be so horrible
don't expect us to be perfect
because we're not
but at least we fucking TRY
we TRY to be the guy you could love
while we
we have to love you for all your faults
all your fucked up inhibitions
all your badness
while you only point out the badness in us.
we want to love you fully
completely
utterly until death
but you
are the one who complicates
everything
and this.
this.
this.
leaves us with no choice
but to be dicks.
Friday, December 3, 2010
And Another Thing...
I was stinking drunk by then, overstepping, teeter totting, knuckles scrapped and slightly ragged, i pushed open the driver side door and fell out of the car. The asphalt was cold, coldness made the rugged rocky blacktop feel harsher than it really was.Up and coming, a pair of headlights, i worked myself up onto my haunches and hid behind the car. Were they following me? How the hell did they find out where i lived? I thought i lost that tail way back behind the reservoir, I saw it with my own two eyes, the car sliding sideways into the mud wall. But, no, it couldn't be, they were back now, the headlights were coming closer, i scrunched myself into a ball hoping that i could become smaller and smaller until i eventually disappeared. The fear was a small ball of knots in my stomach.
The car slowed as it passed me, and pulled up 2 spots and parked. Through the shadows and ricochet of the moon i saw that they were both wearing hats, cigarette glowing faintly like two firefly's. I slowly crept behind the rest of the cars picking up rocks and putting them in my coat pocket. Pulled out my cell phone and dialed the station.
"Harvey? Hey it's me. Yeah I know i owe you for last weeks game. Hey clear your ear for a second, i'm looking out my window and theres a couple of punks throwing rocks at houses, they're in a small Hudson.... Send over a car, put a little fear in them huh? Thanks. See you Sunday. Oh, and don't forget my fucking watch huh?"
I stopped between a big long Chrysler and a Ford coupe, laying down with my head on the curb. The sky was relatively clear, Venus shinning off in the distance somewhere like a giant eyeball, starring down at me. Gods eye. Gathering the rocks into a fistful of tiny boulders, I gave them a mighty fling into the windows of the house in front of the Hudson. There was shuffling inside of the house, and the perimeter lights flicked on, the Hudson was illuminated now, driver and passenger both startled, the car rumbled to life and i heard the parking brake being released. Everything was happening slowly then, the house owner coming out onto his porch with shotgun in hand, and the small Hudson that the two men were in began trying to make it's escape. Some yelling went on, and I saw this as my opportunity to run. I grasped at my coat flaps and dashed across the street, low, low dashing, as if the war was on, and if i didn't keep my head low a bullet would catch me right in the temple. I held my hat on my head with one hand and my coat closed with the other while running across the street. I made it to the sidewalk and didn't bother to inspect any further, hustling up those steps and onto my doorstep. I fumbled with my keys and put them in the lock. More yelling, and then finally, a shotgun blast. I kicked open the door with my foot and dashed inside, closing it behind me and double bolting it. Then i put the chain on for good measure, one can never be too safe.
She was laying there on the couch, bundled up in an old thick blanket under the front windows. Her long hair was spread over the pillow and her little fist were balled up holding the blanket under her chin. I saw those gorgeous eyes peering at me through the dark in the white light the television gave off and i melted then. Instantly forgetting everything that had happened in the last hour, watching her lay there curled up like a cat under a car muffler on a cold morning. Loving her was like being drunk and rich.
"hey."
"hey."
i rushed over to the windows and shut the blinds. I peered out between the Venetians watching for the Hudson. It was gone now, the neighbors lights were off, everything was back to normal. It was quiet and desolate out there, not a soul in sight, the night was done with everything, it sucked everything into it's silence and anyone who wasn't inside of something may have just as well been dunked into that black sprawling hole of silence. It was the cold, dark battlefield after a ten years war. Everything dead and still after several burst of action.
Walking towards the bar to pour myself one, i could feel those eyes tracking me in the dark. She didn't say anything yet, probably figuring out my mood, seeing how she would play this one. She was intuitive like that. I grasped for the first bottle with shaking and sweating hands pouring into my coffee mug, not bothering to throw out the stale coffee from the morning, and shot it down my throat with regularity. I poured out another and asked her if she would like one.
"looks like you're going for both of us."
i chuckled, she knew what was where. i poured her out a small one and sat in the chair next to the couch. I leaned back and threw my hat on the table.
"You're sweating."
"It's a hot night." - this while she curled up in that blanket like meat in a burrito.
"Whats the deal?"
"It's been a rough one dear."
"You're drunk aren't you? You've been drinking. You smell like piss and whiskey."
"hey, hey, hey, don't start with that shit huh? I had a few."
"No. I can tell. You're shot to hell. Hold out your hand."
"Why do i have to hold out my hand?"
"Why do you not want to hold out your hand? Whatcha hiding?"
"aww hell." - i held out my hand and tried to keep her steady, but she shook like a fiend.
"I KNEW IT!"
"ahhhh.. don't start in. It was a tough one already."
"Where'd you go?"
"The Boar"
"Hmph."
"What?"
"Who went with you?"
"I went alone."
"You went to see that hussy didn't you?"
"Which one we talking bout?" - I loved to poke at her in this fashion.
"The BLONDE ONE!" - She sat up then and pushed the blanket off of her. She was so beautiful, even in her sleepwear.
"No, no, no. I told you, ain't nothing doing. We're all over. It's just you and I."
"I bet. She buy you a drink?"
"No. I sat over in the corner by the chalk board with my head in the notebook the whole time. I was writing see?" - I pulled out my pocket book and showed her the scribbles.
"So she wasn't there?"
"No, she was there, but I ignored her the whole time. We didn't even glance at each other."
"Of all the damn bars, you have to go there."
"I like it there, they carry my rye. and it's cheap."
"Sure. Why are you sweating?"
"They followed me home."
"Who? HeR?"
"no, no no. the suits. they been following me all goddamn day. They think i'm wrapped up in all of it somehow."
"i think you're a dirty stinking liar."
"oh lay off won't you?"
"I knew something was up. I felt it in my bones. I'm perceptive about this kinda stuff."
-Just then the phone rang. I let it ring. I didn't want to get up.
"Fine. I'll get it." - She sprang up and reached for the handle. It stopped ringing then.
I don't know what happened next. It all went down too quick. The sounds were slow and drawing, glass shattering, loud pops, my ears were ringing. I didn't know what my body was doing but i shot out of that goddamn chair and leaped over the coffee table and tackled her to the ground. The television broke our fall and we rolled into each others arms as we hit the carpet. I put my body over hers to protect her. The glass continued to shatter and rain down over us. I could hear the bullets whizzing and burying themselves into the drywall above our position. When the shots slowed down I kicked over the coffee table and put her behind it. I nabbed the shotgun that was taped to the bottom of it and put my hat back on it's proper head. Those son of a bitches were in for some hell. I crawled for the back door and opened her up. Jumping over the railing into the back alley. My ankles took a mean shock hitting the ground, i almost couldn't walk after that, thinking i broke both of them in one foul leap, but gaining momentum i made it over to the high wood fence and stuck the nuzzle of the gun chest center. They never came, and i could hear the Hudson revving up around the corner, I positioned myself atop some trashcans and laid her steady, with the Hudson in it's sights, i was going for the big time, i aimed for the driver side and shot her one good. The kickback was nothing like i remember and i landed back on my ass. Scrambling up, I peered through the door and saw the Hudson jump the curb and clip a tree. It skidded back towards the opposing side of street and onto someones lawn. I pumped once for luck and another for insurance.
Two figures were still seated there as I mosied up. Sitting back a minute i saw the driver kick open the door and fall out. The passenger was next and I dropped him with the butt to the back of the head, then hit him in the face for good measure. The lawn owner came out and I screamed to call the coppers. I took their guns, their wallets, and their phones.
When i got in she was sitting in the middle of the room with the blanket over her head. There was a kitchen knife in her hands. A big long sucker with a shining blade.
"hey."
"hey."
I came over and hugged her. We fell onto the carpet and starred into our respective eyes.
"I love you."
"I, i, i love you too."
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"I'm sorry i was bad jealous girlfriend."
"hey, don't sweat it. I've been bad jealous boyfriend, i think this makes us square."
"yeah."
"That was a close one."
"Yeah."
"Listen, when you can hear the time clicking away, it really puts things into focus. We could both be dead now, or one of us could be dead and the other has to live with the burden of leaving off on the bad foot. I don't want that. We belong together. Like ketchup on meatloaf. You're my rib woman. All this other shit out here, it's just pointless babble, but you and I, that's what matters most."
"um."
i put my finger to her mouth.
"shhhh.. don't say anything."
I grabbed her chin and pulled her mouth to me. Just like in the movies. That's what they do at the end right? They kiss? So we kissed then. But this woman i had been kissing for four years tasted new that night. That night it tasted unique. It tasted like the beginning and end. Every kiss after that, every touch, every small bit of paradise felt like the first and last time, and each time i held it, burying it deep into my mind, so that when my clock did run out, and i was laying on my back, those last few moments would be with her. My rib.
The car slowed as it passed me, and pulled up 2 spots and parked. Through the shadows and ricochet of the moon i saw that they were both wearing hats, cigarette glowing faintly like two firefly's. I slowly crept behind the rest of the cars picking up rocks and putting them in my coat pocket. Pulled out my cell phone and dialed the station.
"Harvey? Hey it's me. Yeah I know i owe you for last weeks game. Hey clear your ear for a second, i'm looking out my window and theres a couple of punks throwing rocks at houses, they're in a small Hudson.... Send over a car, put a little fear in them huh? Thanks. See you Sunday. Oh, and don't forget my fucking watch huh?"
I stopped between a big long Chrysler and a Ford coupe, laying down with my head on the curb. The sky was relatively clear, Venus shinning off in the distance somewhere like a giant eyeball, starring down at me. Gods eye. Gathering the rocks into a fistful of tiny boulders, I gave them a mighty fling into the windows of the house in front of the Hudson. There was shuffling inside of the house, and the perimeter lights flicked on, the Hudson was illuminated now, driver and passenger both startled, the car rumbled to life and i heard the parking brake being released. Everything was happening slowly then, the house owner coming out onto his porch with shotgun in hand, and the small Hudson that the two men were in began trying to make it's escape. Some yelling went on, and I saw this as my opportunity to run. I grasped at my coat flaps and dashed across the street, low, low dashing, as if the war was on, and if i didn't keep my head low a bullet would catch me right in the temple. I held my hat on my head with one hand and my coat closed with the other while running across the street. I made it to the sidewalk and didn't bother to inspect any further, hustling up those steps and onto my doorstep. I fumbled with my keys and put them in the lock. More yelling, and then finally, a shotgun blast. I kicked open the door with my foot and dashed inside, closing it behind me and double bolting it. Then i put the chain on for good measure, one can never be too safe.
She was laying there on the couch, bundled up in an old thick blanket under the front windows. Her long hair was spread over the pillow and her little fist were balled up holding the blanket under her chin. I saw those gorgeous eyes peering at me through the dark in the white light the television gave off and i melted then. Instantly forgetting everything that had happened in the last hour, watching her lay there curled up like a cat under a car muffler on a cold morning. Loving her was like being drunk and rich.
"hey."
"hey."
i rushed over to the windows and shut the blinds. I peered out between the Venetians watching for the Hudson. It was gone now, the neighbors lights were off, everything was back to normal. It was quiet and desolate out there, not a soul in sight, the night was done with everything, it sucked everything into it's silence and anyone who wasn't inside of something may have just as well been dunked into that black sprawling hole of silence. It was the cold, dark battlefield after a ten years war. Everything dead and still after several burst of action.
Walking towards the bar to pour myself one, i could feel those eyes tracking me in the dark. She didn't say anything yet, probably figuring out my mood, seeing how she would play this one. She was intuitive like that. I grasped for the first bottle with shaking and sweating hands pouring into my coffee mug, not bothering to throw out the stale coffee from the morning, and shot it down my throat with regularity. I poured out another and asked her if she would like one.
"looks like you're going for both of us."
i chuckled, she knew what was where. i poured her out a small one and sat in the chair next to the couch. I leaned back and threw my hat on the table.
"You're sweating."
"It's a hot night." - this while she curled up in that blanket like meat in a burrito.
"Whats the deal?"
"It's been a rough one dear."
"You're drunk aren't you? You've been drinking. You smell like piss and whiskey."
"hey, hey, hey, don't start with that shit huh? I had a few."
"No. I can tell. You're shot to hell. Hold out your hand."
"Why do i have to hold out my hand?"
"Why do you not want to hold out your hand? Whatcha hiding?"
"aww hell." - i held out my hand and tried to keep her steady, but she shook like a fiend.
"I KNEW IT!"
"ahhhh.. don't start in. It was a tough one already."
"Where'd you go?"
"The Boar"
"Hmph."
"What?"
"Who went with you?"
"I went alone."
"You went to see that hussy didn't you?"
"Which one we talking bout?" - I loved to poke at her in this fashion.
"The BLONDE ONE!" - She sat up then and pushed the blanket off of her. She was so beautiful, even in her sleepwear.
"No, no, no. I told you, ain't nothing doing. We're all over. It's just you and I."
"I bet. She buy you a drink?"
"No. I sat over in the corner by the chalk board with my head in the notebook the whole time. I was writing see?" - I pulled out my pocket book and showed her the scribbles.
"So she wasn't there?"
"No, she was there, but I ignored her the whole time. We didn't even glance at each other."
"Of all the damn bars, you have to go there."
"I like it there, they carry my rye. and it's cheap."
"Sure. Why are you sweating?"
"They followed me home."
"Who? HeR?"
"no, no no. the suits. they been following me all goddamn day. They think i'm wrapped up in all of it somehow."
"i think you're a dirty stinking liar."
"oh lay off won't you?"
"I knew something was up. I felt it in my bones. I'm perceptive about this kinda stuff."
-Just then the phone rang. I let it ring. I didn't want to get up.
"Fine. I'll get it." - She sprang up and reached for the handle. It stopped ringing then.
I don't know what happened next. It all went down too quick. The sounds were slow and drawing, glass shattering, loud pops, my ears were ringing. I didn't know what my body was doing but i shot out of that goddamn chair and leaped over the coffee table and tackled her to the ground. The television broke our fall and we rolled into each others arms as we hit the carpet. I put my body over hers to protect her. The glass continued to shatter and rain down over us. I could hear the bullets whizzing and burying themselves into the drywall above our position. When the shots slowed down I kicked over the coffee table and put her behind it. I nabbed the shotgun that was taped to the bottom of it and put my hat back on it's proper head. Those son of a bitches were in for some hell. I crawled for the back door and opened her up. Jumping over the railing into the back alley. My ankles took a mean shock hitting the ground, i almost couldn't walk after that, thinking i broke both of them in one foul leap, but gaining momentum i made it over to the high wood fence and stuck the nuzzle of the gun chest center. They never came, and i could hear the Hudson revving up around the corner, I positioned myself atop some trashcans and laid her steady, with the Hudson in it's sights, i was going for the big time, i aimed for the driver side and shot her one good. The kickback was nothing like i remember and i landed back on my ass. Scrambling up, I peered through the door and saw the Hudson jump the curb and clip a tree. It skidded back towards the opposing side of street and onto someones lawn. I pumped once for luck and another for insurance.
Two figures were still seated there as I mosied up. Sitting back a minute i saw the driver kick open the door and fall out. The passenger was next and I dropped him with the butt to the back of the head, then hit him in the face for good measure. The lawn owner came out and I screamed to call the coppers. I took their guns, their wallets, and their phones.
When i got in she was sitting in the middle of the room with the blanket over her head. There was a kitchen knife in her hands. A big long sucker with a shining blade.
"hey."
"hey."
I came over and hugged her. We fell onto the carpet and starred into our respective eyes.
"I love you."
"I, i, i love you too."
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?"
"I'm sorry i was bad jealous girlfriend."
"hey, don't sweat it. I've been bad jealous boyfriend, i think this makes us square."
"yeah."
"That was a close one."
"Yeah."
"Listen, when you can hear the time clicking away, it really puts things into focus. We could both be dead now, or one of us could be dead and the other has to live with the burden of leaving off on the bad foot. I don't want that. We belong together. Like ketchup on meatloaf. You're my rib woman. All this other shit out here, it's just pointless babble, but you and I, that's what matters most."
"um."
i put my finger to her mouth.
"shhhh.. don't say anything."
I grabbed her chin and pulled her mouth to me. Just like in the movies. That's what they do at the end right? They kiss? So we kissed then. But this woman i had been kissing for four years tasted new that night. That night it tasted unique. It tasted like the beginning and end. Every kiss after that, every touch, every small bit of paradise felt like the first and last time, and each time i held it, burying it deep into my mind, so that when my clock did run out, and i was laying on my back, those last few moments would be with her. My rib.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
and I'll Never Be Your Cranberry Man
The cold Los Angeles night had a sharpness to it, the air rushing in through the windows as i crossed the 1st Street bridge over into East LA from downtown chilled me right down to the bone. A shiver ran through and i pressed down into the driver seat looking for warmth, right hand firm on the wheel, left hand dangling out the window, cigarette dancing between my lips with each bump from the road. The ash was trickling down onto my jeans, but i didn't care much at this point, i had, after all, had been wearing the same pair of jeans for more than a week now, they were specked with car grease, fryer grease, chili sauce, crusted pieces of food that i casually brushed off and the thigh part of my pants looked like a kid wiped his crayon residue off on me, i stopped caring at this point. The woman was out of town, she wasn't around, my appearance didn't seem to matter to me at this point, unshaven, running out of clean laundry (i wasn't wearing any underwear and my socks were mismatched) i could feel the grime on the clothes seeping into my skin. I kept checking the rear view mirror for a copper, "You'll never take me alive copper..."... that's what a man halfway into his rum bottle taste like. I pumped the music up into the small speakers until they crackled to give some life to the situation, to give some action, it was too quiet out, we needed a little madness sprinkled into our lives.
I kept driving over that bridge and then eventually made a turn onto State Street, gracefully gliding onto the 5 North towards home. i lit up another cigarette and went over those things that you go over when you're one beer away from being a good buzz, and 2 scotchs away from being damn near drunk. At this point, you're in the halo part of town, the in between of drinking and being sober, you start to question life and it's possibilities, and you also start to question yourself. I thought of the woman, and the fight we had a few nights before, the resolution to our fight seemed like a cop out, like we were coming to a compromise, which fully, i can appreciate. That's the best word you can find to use in a relationship, compromise. It's like wanting chocolate ice cream, and she wants vanilla, but in order to settle you both choose the Neapolitan in order to not fight and share a box. Although, there is strawberry in the middle, and at first glance, you both hate it, you both loath the strawberry, but little by little, as the ends close in, you start picking at the strawberry, and so does she, and eventually you hear the spoons clank together as you reach for that last bite, and out of a sign of kindness and love, you split the last piece in half, and the tub is gone. Fucking beautiful.
The fight was in regards to our past. Correction, in regards to her past. Up front and blunt, the woman doesn't like to use condoms, so we go freebird every once in awhile, and i'm cool with it, i can keep track of what's coming when and am highly aware at making the judgement call. But as we're doing this, i start to think about previous encounters she may of had, and i trust her fully, but on the other hand, she's so naive, she very may well have done a lot of things with a lot of people and not strapped anything on. She was on the other side of the world for a vacation once, and i'm pretty sure it ran the same way we ran, because she was in love with the guy then, and i'm sure rawness was not a rarity. Paranoia got the best of me then, and when she left town i took my ass straight to the doctor. The results were clean. Un-tainted love. I brought up my concerns to her and she made me feel like i was being a dick for wanting to know how many people she banged without using a condom. This can make a man feel like his girlfriend is a whore, but i would never call a girl a whore.. that just seems... so... so... so wrong (i called a girl a whore once because she stole my poem and claimed it as her own. writing is the only sacred thing i have in my life, i have no religion, i have no hopes, this is what i got, and if you take my words from me, well, than you are a WHORE). anyway, she deflected my questions and claimed that i was a "man whore". Now people, please, listen for a second, i've only ever had a single encounter that you can call a one night stand. And it was fucking horrible. it felt so fake, so pretentious, so fucking full of bullshit that i can't even put it in words. The girl was a girl i brought home from the bar, and it felt so rehearsed. "oh yeah fuck me. Fuck that pussy" that's not what i want to hear right now, lets just enjoy ourselves, i barely fucking know you!. But the girl persisted so much, she was overly sexual to the point that i knew she was putting on an act thinking that's what i liked. My cock got soft, and i couldn't go on anymore, i apologized and went down on her as a sign of good sportsmanship. The whole time i hated myself profusely, and vowed to never again take someone home who i didn't genuinely find interesting (to this day i haven't).
It made me angry that she called me a "man whore". I had fucking principals, i was the good guy, the right guy, and maybe not the best guy, but i didn't want to be like all those assholes out there fucking everyone and not making good on their promises. i was not a liar, but wanted to be the most honest that i could. i persisted on asking her how many people she had been with, but she had no number, she claimed to have forgotten, because, here's the kicker, she had a lot of "black out sex", which means she had been drinking, and could of possibly done things that i don't want to even think about. It doesn't matter to me, i love the girl (love is like a dog from hell- to quote a greater man) i didn't care who she had sex with, i just want to know what the hell was going on and what kind of mind frame she was in. If she cheated on her boyfriend (several times) then what makes me so special? After all, the way we met was when she cheated on her boyfriend with me, and then she flew out to another state and cheated on him again, and then she went to visit some family overseas and cheated on him a third time. i watched as she was madly in love with him, they moved in together, i wondered if he knew that i was banging his girlfriend? She passed me over and went on with her life, still cheating. I watched all this from the outside and when she got back from overseas we got together for a few drinks. she confessed her love for the overseas boy and wanted to move back to marry him. i was sad inside.
years passed, and i met other woman, some were good, some were bad, and some i didn't really hit it off with. i dated every woman under the sun. Chinese, latina, white from the west coast, white from the east coast, religious, political, a girl who was into Scientology, a girl who was a stripper.. i dabbled all over the place to find it was exactly what i liked. none of them worked out, and then, like a miracle, the woman popped back into my life, and we started up again.
Now we're six months in, and beyond the three month mark. I don't really care how much "black out" or "love" or whatever sex she had, but just don't call me a man whore, that goes against every moral i have in my bones. I wanted to point the finger back at her and call her a whore, but that would be bad class, and i would never be that low. I breathed in and out and let it go. The fight was based on the grounds that i had seen her be madly in love with someone, and then cheat on them. Now i was the guy she was madly in love with, and i feared for my heart so. Would she cheat on me? Would she meet some guy somewhere and fall for him and lose the comfort she had with me? i dunno.. the possibilities are endless in that scenario, and i'm only going to give myself an aneurysm thinking about it. I trust nothing in my life. I know that it can very well be taken away from me at any minute. i could sit here and have a jet engine fall through the roof of my shitty apartment housing complex and kill me. So i appreciate everything i have, and the things i don't, i let them sit on the back burner until i get to them. So i don't hate the woman, i don't think she's a whore, and i've got all these facts in front of me about her. But you know what? I've never had faith in anything in my life, and i feel that if i don't have faith in this, it very well may end. So i'm going to sit here, with my heart on my sleeve and let her get it all out of this crusty outer shell. You can't live your life based on principals, it gets you nowhere except angry with humanity and life. I do hate people, i hate all of you, i hate myself, i hate this planet and i hate the system, i hate the galaxy and the universe. But i will not kill myself, out of a guilty sense of self preservation. So i have no choice but to be here and try to make things work out for me. I love, and hate you all. And as for this current relationship, i'm going to believe a little, that not all people are shit, until i'm proven wrong.
amen.
I kept driving over that bridge and then eventually made a turn onto State Street, gracefully gliding onto the 5 North towards home. i lit up another cigarette and went over those things that you go over when you're one beer away from being a good buzz, and 2 scotchs away from being damn near drunk. At this point, you're in the halo part of town, the in between of drinking and being sober, you start to question life and it's possibilities, and you also start to question yourself. I thought of the woman, and the fight we had a few nights before, the resolution to our fight seemed like a cop out, like we were coming to a compromise, which fully, i can appreciate. That's the best word you can find to use in a relationship, compromise. It's like wanting chocolate ice cream, and she wants vanilla, but in order to settle you both choose the Neapolitan in order to not fight and share a box. Although, there is strawberry in the middle, and at first glance, you both hate it, you both loath the strawberry, but little by little, as the ends close in, you start picking at the strawberry, and so does she, and eventually you hear the spoons clank together as you reach for that last bite, and out of a sign of kindness and love, you split the last piece in half, and the tub is gone. Fucking beautiful.
The fight was in regards to our past. Correction, in regards to her past. Up front and blunt, the woman doesn't like to use condoms, so we go freebird every once in awhile, and i'm cool with it, i can keep track of what's coming when and am highly aware at making the judgement call. But as we're doing this, i start to think about previous encounters she may of had, and i trust her fully, but on the other hand, she's so naive, she very may well have done a lot of things with a lot of people and not strapped anything on. She was on the other side of the world for a vacation once, and i'm pretty sure it ran the same way we ran, because she was in love with the guy then, and i'm sure rawness was not a rarity. Paranoia got the best of me then, and when she left town i took my ass straight to the doctor. The results were clean. Un-tainted love. I brought up my concerns to her and she made me feel like i was being a dick for wanting to know how many people she banged without using a condom. This can make a man feel like his girlfriend is a whore, but i would never call a girl a whore.. that just seems... so... so... so wrong (i called a girl a whore once because she stole my poem and claimed it as her own. writing is the only sacred thing i have in my life, i have no religion, i have no hopes, this is what i got, and if you take my words from me, well, than you are a WHORE). anyway, she deflected my questions and claimed that i was a "man whore". Now people, please, listen for a second, i've only ever had a single encounter that you can call a one night stand. And it was fucking horrible. it felt so fake, so pretentious, so fucking full of bullshit that i can't even put it in words. The girl was a girl i brought home from the bar, and it felt so rehearsed. "oh yeah fuck me. Fuck that pussy" that's not what i want to hear right now, lets just enjoy ourselves, i barely fucking know you!. But the girl persisted so much, she was overly sexual to the point that i knew she was putting on an act thinking that's what i liked. My cock got soft, and i couldn't go on anymore, i apologized and went down on her as a sign of good sportsmanship. The whole time i hated myself profusely, and vowed to never again take someone home who i didn't genuinely find interesting (to this day i haven't).
It made me angry that she called me a "man whore". I had fucking principals, i was the good guy, the right guy, and maybe not the best guy, but i didn't want to be like all those assholes out there fucking everyone and not making good on their promises. i was not a liar, but wanted to be the most honest that i could. i persisted on asking her how many people she had been with, but she had no number, she claimed to have forgotten, because, here's the kicker, she had a lot of "black out sex", which means she had been drinking, and could of possibly done things that i don't want to even think about. It doesn't matter to me, i love the girl (love is like a dog from hell- to quote a greater man) i didn't care who she had sex with, i just want to know what the hell was going on and what kind of mind frame she was in. If she cheated on her boyfriend (several times) then what makes me so special? After all, the way we met was when she cheated on her boyfriend with me, and then she flew out to another state and cheated on him again, and then she went to visit some family overseas and cheated on him a third time. i watched as she was madly in love with him, they moved in together, i wondered if he knew that i was banging his girlfriend? She passed me over and went on with her life, still cheating. I watched all this from the outside and when she got back from overseas we got together for a few drinks. she confessed her love for the overseas boy and wanted to move back to marry him. i was sad inside.
years passed, and i met other woman, some were good, some were bad, and some i didn't really hit it off with. i dated every woman under the sun. Chinese, latina, white from the west coast, white from the east coast, religious, political, a girl who was into Scientology, a girl who was a stripper.. i dabbled all over the place to find it was exactly what i liked. none of them worked out, and then, like a miracle, the woman popped back into my life, and we started up again.
Now we're six months in, and beyond the three month mark. I don't really care how much "black out" or "love" or whatever sex she had, but just don't call me a man whore, that goes against every moral i have in my bones. I wanted to point the finger back at her and call her a whore, but that would be bad class, and i would never be that low. I breathed in and out and let it go. The fight was based on the grounds that i had seen her be madly in love with someone, and then cheat on them. Now i was the guy she was madly in love with, and i feared for my heart so. Would she cheat on me? Would she meet some guy somewhere and fall for him and lose the comfort she had with me? i dunno.. the possibilities are endless in that scenario, and i'm only going to give myself an aneurysm thinking about it. I trust nothing in my life. I know that it can very well be taken away from me at any minute. i could sit here and have a jet engine fall through the roof of my shitty apartment housing complex and kill me. So i appreciate everything i have, and the things i don't, i let them sit on the back burner until i get to them. So i don't hate the woman, i don't think she's a whore, and i've got all these facts in front of me about her. But you know what? I've never had faith in anything in my life, and i feel that if i don't have faith in this, it very well may end. So i'm going to sit here, with my heart on my sleeve and let her get it all out of this crusty outer shell. You can't live your life based on principals, it gets you nowhere except angry with humanity and life. I do hate people, i hate all of you, i hate myself, i hate this planet and i hate the system, i hate the galaxy and the universe. But i will not kill myself, out of a guilty sense of self preservation. So i have no choice but to be here and try to make things work out for me. I love, and hate you all. And as for this current relationship, i'm going to believe a little, that not all people are shit, until i'm proven wrong.
amen.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
It Was Just Another Night By Hell
some nights are hard
harder than most
the kind of hard that test your patience
test your ability to fight
and reason
but mostly fight.
some nights are hard
and really make you rub your head
with your thumbs
and wonder why you're here
make you want to rip your face off
and
probably kick something.
these nights are hard because that's the way they are
they kick you in the kidneys
to let you know what it feels like to be kicked
in the goddamn kidneys
and any time after that
you'll protect your kidneys.
some nights are hard
and burn like candles
some night are hard
and burn like pits of fiery ash.
either way
at least there's something burning in your life
and you can't be sad for that
some people have nothing in their lives
no hope
no salvation
no dignity
or class
those people are the people that can't differentiate
hard nights
because most nights are hell for them
but they're still alive
still breathing out in that midnight air
sucking in ash, smog and apathy
without a look of worry on their face
they are dwindled down
to less than human
but still human
more so than any of us.
some nights are hard
but harder so
when you only think about yourself
and what you've been cheated (if that at most)
out of.
don't let those bullshit nights be hard on you
because at the end of your day
when you lay there
and stare up into that ceiling
with only your thoughts for company
what will matter most
"is how well you walk through the fire."
"...and i will always appreaciate bad days like this,
because they give me a frame of reference
in regards to my happiness..."
harder than most
the kind of hard that test your patience
test your ability to fight
and reason
but mostly fight.
some nights are hard
and really make you rub your head
with your thumbs
and wonder why you're here
make you want to rip your face off
and
probably kick something.
these nights are hard because that's the way they are
they kick you in the kidneys
to let you know what it feels like to be kicked
in the goddamn kidneys
and any time after that
you'll protect your kidneys.
some nights are hard
and burn like candles
some night are hard
and burn like pits of fiery ash.
either way
at least there's something burning in your life
and you can't be sad for that
some people have nothing in their lives
no hope
no salvation
no dignity
or class
those people are the people that can't differentiate
hard nights
because most nights are hell for them
but they're still alive
still breathing out in that midnight air
sucking in ash, smog and apathy
without a look of worry on their face
they are dwindled down
to less than human
but still human
more so than any of us.
some nights are hard
but harder so
when you only think about yourself
and what you've been cheated (if that at most)
out of.
don't let those bullshit nights be hard on you
because at the end of your day
when you lay there
and stare up into that ceiling
with only your thoughts for company
what will matter most
"is how well you walk through the fire."
"...and i will always appreaciate bad days like this,
because they give me a frame of reference
in regards to my happiness..."
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Saturday Night- Witnessing the Decline of Humanity- Duel Fashionistas Wreaking of Spoilage.
I witnessed something today that really depressed the hell out of me. It wasn't as if I had a mind set going into the day of depression, I actually thought of today as one of the best days I'd had in a long while. Woke up at noon, with the blinds pulled closed, it was dark in the room, but sunny and light outside. I laid in bed and played the game that i always like to play in the morning until i got bored of myself and rolled out of bed. I made myself a breakfast burrito with some eggs, shredded taters, sour cream and pico. All in all, it was a pretty good morning. Laid around the house reading the new Adam Carolla book. Popped outside for a few to smoke cigarettes and chat with my lanky neighbor (who I secretly adore). It was great going in, and I felt positive for once.
The restaurant is a dangerous place, if you're not prepared for just what which way the lines may melt. You very well may go in expecting a down night, but you get caught up in one thing and another and sooner than you know it you're pounding beers left and right. It's a hell of a thing being dragged across the coals. You get a raw deal and don't even know it till you're too far in too pull out.
It had rained all week, the weather was shit (at least for Los Angeles folks who are scared of everything). Me? Personally.. i love me some fucking rain, some thunder, some dark clouds looming overhead. It means all the sorry fucks lock themselves inside of their house and watch Gilmore Girls or Grey's Anatomy. I have the streets to myself, i have the bars to myself, and most importantly, only those real barflies come out and stake their claim. There's something about smoking a cigarette outside of a bar, in the rain, with the neck of your coat turned up that shakes my bones. Blissful existence.
Now that the skies had cleared and those poor (not monetary poor) schmucks could creep out of their house, they infested every restaurant, every bar, every known crevice to mankind in this goddamn city. Here i was, shelling out food to these folk. I did it without judgement, after all, their money was a green as the next guys'. But I didn't want to get to know them on a personal level, i didn't want to be their friend or confidant, i just wanted them to come in, to eat, to drink, and then leave. It was that simple, at least to me.
So it's around 9pm, and i see this dame sitting all by her lonesome at the edge of the bar. The kitchens slammed, and i'm doing the dance, making the moves, pulling out the food at a nice pace, everyones eating, having a good time, and i look up, to see, one of my regular barflies sitting at the kitchen counter (it's an open space) hanging out with his giant mug of beer smiling at me like he just won the lottery. I nod in his direction and yell a few words at him, letting him know i acknowledge his presence in the restaurant, the man, after all, is here more than 3 nights a week, I must make him feel welcomed. I drop my head down and continue slaving away at the next order. When i'm done i look up and see that he's no longer around, i search for him and go out into the dining room, to give the man a proper hand shake and a somewhat genuine welcome. Midway through the dining area, I spot him with the lonely dame at the bar and i divert my course. I walk straight out the front door and light a cigarette. I stamp back and forth across the asphalt and watch him peripherally. He's working his old magic on the dame, that old school work that isn't around anymore. I must admit, the man comes on strong, but he doesn't hide any of his qualms. He knows where he's going and he knows what he wants. I feel like this night is the night where the dynamite fuse met the spark, and chaos will resume after a slight intermission. Excuse me while i retrieve my rum bottle from the cubby.
Alright, back on track now. So the lonely dame and the barfly hit it off. I watch them casually creep closer and closer, and then i watch him take her face in his hands and kiss her. He kissed her like a sheep needs a Shepard. i was happy for him then. He had frequented our spot for so long and i had no clue what went on outside in his personal life, but the man was scoring tonight. Whatever he was saying, or whatever she was drinking, seemed to do the trick. I cheered secretly inside for him. I continued with my work. The bartender came back and mentioned to me that she was a lesbian, i wondered if this was "here-say" but dismissed it automatically on account that my bartender wasn't one for bullshitting and producing fake stories on false pretenses. So maybe the lonely dame was a lesbian, but on this particular night, my barfly (i now refer to him as mine because he's a character in my account) may have said the right words to get her to loosen up enough for some manly manhandling. I was amazed at the scene.
They kept drinking, i kept working, the night kept doing what it does. Eventually she got up to headed over to the john and I thought nothing of it. She was in there for awhile.. I figured the dame was adjusting her make-up and washing a few things out (or whatever it is that broads do in the bathroom). My barfly walked over to the mens room with the smile of a champion. He came out a few minutes later and went back to his seat at the bar. The lonely dame never returned, and finally, my barfly grew weary and tired and hit the streets like any other decent barfly does, in search of his next prey, devouring what he could, dancing around like a spider needs a fly.
There were two dames sitting over by the pillar that i had been eying for awhile. One had short black hair and a decent looking face, but there was nothing special to her, she was just another broad with broad looks and empty eyes (let's call her empty face). The other dame sitting with her was starry eyed and had an elongated nose, with full lips, a small chin, and looks that would stop a singer mid-song (lets call her Sally). I watched Sally eying me from across the restaurant but i took no stake in it, on account that i had a something steady going on in my life, but i still couldn't help admire a beauty like that from afar. I kept my eye on the duo dames while i worked and watched them progress through a couple rounds of sangria. They emptied their glasses like two little champions and then empty face got up and walked over towards the bathrooms. She walked into the hall and then walked back out, taking a seat where the barfly had sat earlier. i walked over and started talking to her as she motioned for Sally to come and sit with her. She asked me if i thought Sally was pretty. I responded with a firm yes and started asking her probing questions (where you from? Have you been here before? What do you do? yadda yadda yadda...) The conversation was going nowhere quick, and Sally was no help, dame was lamer than church on Wednesdays. i thought i'd shake things up a bit and told Sally that empty face had asked if i thought she was pretty and i said yes. No response from Sally. Go figure i said, dame over here thinks i'm weird. Sally said she really liked weird, so i responded with a hand slap on the counter claiming i was weirder than the weirdest man she's ever met in her whole life. I expected a laugh, or a slight chuckle or giggle, but was only greeted with a look of disdain and apathy. i asked them what they did (since i knew women always like talking about themselves) and they responded with "oh fashion stuff. i'm and assistant to an assistant, and Sally here, well, she's in school for fashion." i tried to make this work in Sally's angle and said that once out of school she had a go in with the fashion industry, I guess she responded. I had about enough of the shit and walked away casually as empty face got up to check on the bathroom situation again. They flagged me back over and mentioned that someone had been in the bathroom for a long time, and they really needed to pee. i told them to use the guy's restroom if they had to go that bad, but they responded with a look of disgust. they both said that men were absolutely disgusting in their habits, which i laughed at very loud. they asked me why i was laughing, and i mentioned how usually i thought women were more disgusting in their habits. I let the argument drop. i thought about it some, and it was true. I had walked into that bathroom, in my own restaurant, and had seen blood soaked tampons and pads on the floor. now that my dear friends, is gross beyond belief. whats the worse a guy can do other than piss on the seat a bit and shit and not flush? you do know that when you leave your menstrual cycle on the floor that someone has to clean that up? As where when a man pisses on the floor, you mop it, it's gone, or a man doesn't flush, well, you kick the handle and it's gone. it's a no foul no play kinda deal. so what's this dame sweating me about taking a pee in the mens restroom?
My bartender walked over and mentioned to me that lonely dame was the last one in the bathroom, and that she might be the one holding the situation up. I told empty face that she was probably in there puking (i didn't like her anyway, so her response didn't matter to me). she responded with typical bullshit and asked me to go and open the door for her. i said no, that it was a bathroom, and it was private to whoever went in there last. i mentioned again that the mens room was more than readily available, but she declined. in the end, empty face and Sally walked out, both flustered and angry, making a scene with me about how i wouldn't open the womans restroom to let them pee.
this is what depressed me. the fact that someone was obviously in there suffering. The lonely dame had a bad night, she was feeling down, she drank a bit too much, okay, that's a given, and she was making out with my barfly, but where in the world does it give the right for one person to put their bladder in front of the well being of another human? Lonely dame is obviously suffering here, and instead of empty face trying to help, being a "sister" or whatever bullshit label girls give to each other, she merely wants to get in close with me so i can open the door to let her pee because she doesn't want to pee in the mens restroom? Who the fuck do you think you are? i hate to disappoint you moron, but that's a goddamn human being in there, puking her fucking guts out, and instead of being sensitive to her situation, you're gonna complain that your bladder hurts? You have the option of peeing in another room and yet you don't take it? i have no sympathy for you. even worse, you want me to go over and open the door on someone who's probably sitting on the toilet passed out drunk? let the dame be drunk. Empty face swears like she's never been in a bad spot before and needed a couple of minutes to get her shit together. i have no sympathy for people like empty face, i hope she gets hit by a goddamn truck doing 90 on the streets. dames like that only think about themselves. and that's the thing, we're all humans here, all i ask for is a little understanding, a little humanity, realizing that she put herself in a bad place, yeah, i get it, but you don't have to carry her home, just give her a minute to collect her nerves and gather enough courage to pull her panties up around her waist. What pisses me off the most is having the option for an out (not the out you want) but an option nonetheless and yet, still having to invade the privacy of a person just so you can piss in a bathroom? i bet if i switched those damn signs around on the doors you wouldn't even notice the difference. why? Because you're that fucking stupid. Whore.
That's what depresses me in life. Humanity. I can walk into a Starbucks and ask for a glass of water, and be constantly turned down, even if i'm sweating up a storm and dying of thirst, they consistently turn me down. What the fuck? i ask to myself, from one human to another, i'm not being belligerent, i'm not begging your customers for money, all i want is a cup of tap water and you can't even give that to me? How far have we gone as humans that we can't even hold doors open for old folks anymore? How far have we gone as humans were we honk at someone who is crossing the street in a wheel chair because they are crossing too slow? How far have we gone as humans where we don't tip, or even say thank you? The decline of humanity is perhaps the saddest thing to watch. It's worse than watching the rain forest be cut down, worse than watching dolphins slaughtered in Japan and even worse than claiming to be vegetarian because you don't like the thought of cows dying. You know all those vegetables you eat every day? They were picked by migrant workers who are in that fucking field for 12 hours and don't get paid over time, their hourly wage is half of what you make an hour, so don't sell me that vegetarian for animal cruelty shit. It's worse to exploit a human than it is to exploit an animal, and i hope you choke on a tomato one day. You stupid self indulgent twat.
The restaurant is a dangerous place, if you're not prepared for just what which way the lines may melt. You very well may go in expecting a down night, but you get caught up in one thing and another and sooner than you know it you're pounding beers left and right. It's a hell of a thing being dragged across the coals. You get a raw deal and don't even know it till you're too far in too pull out.
It had rained all week, the weather was shit (at least for Los Angeles folks who are scared of everything). Me? Personally.. i love me some fucking rain, some thunder, some dark clouds looming overhead. It means all the sorry fucks lock themselves inside of their house and watch Gilmore Girls or Grey's Anatomy. I have the streets to myself, i have the bars to myself, and most importantly, only those real barflies come out and stake their claim. There's something about smoking a cigarette outside of a bar, in the rain, with the neck of your coat turned up that shakes my bones. Blissful existence.
Now that the skies had cleared and those poor (not monetary poor) schmucks could creep out of their house, they infested every restaurant, every bar, every known crevice to mankind in this goddamn city. Here i was, shelling out food to these folk. I did it without judgement, after all, their money was a green as the next guys'. But I didn't want to get to know them on a personal level, i didn't want to be their friend or confidant, i just wanted them to come in, to eat, to drink, and then leave. It was that simple, at least to me.
So it's around 9pm, and i see this dame sitting all by her lonesome at the edge of the bar. The kitchens slammed, and i'm doing the dance, making the moves, pulling out the food at a nice pace, everyones eating, having a good time, and i look up, to see, one of my regular barflies sitting at the kitchen counter (it's an open space) hanging out with his giant mug of beer smiling at me like he just won the lottery. I nod in his direction and yell a few words at him, letting him know i acknowledge his presence in the restaurant, the man, after all, is here more than 3 nights a week, I must make him feel welcomed. I drop my head down and continue slaving away at the next order. When i'm done i look up and see that he's no longer around, i search for him and go out into the dining room, to give the man a proper hand shake and a somewhat genuine welcome. Midway through the dining area, I spot him with the lonely dame at the bar and i divert my course. I walk straight out the front door and light a cigarette. I stamp back and forth across the asphalt and watch him peripherally. He's working his old magic on the dame, that old school work that isn't around anymore. I must admit, the man comes on strong, but he doesn't hide any of his qualms. He knows where he's going and he knows what he wants. I feel like this night is the night where the dynamite fuse met the spark, and chaos will resume after a slight intermission. Excuse me while i retrieve my rum bottle from the cubby.
Alright, back on track now. So the lonely dame and the barfly hit it off. I watch them casually creep closer and closer, and then i watch him take her face in his hands and kiss her. He kissed her like a sheep needs a Shepard. i was happy for him then. He had frequented our spot for so long and i had no clue what went on outside in his personal life, but the man was scoring tonight. Whatever he was saying, or whatever she was drinking, seemed to do the trick. I cheered secretly inside for him. I continued with my work. The bartender came back and mentioned to me that she was a lesbian, i wondered if this was "here-say" but dismissed it automatically on account that my bartender wasn't one for bullshitting and producing fake stories on false pretenses. So maybe the lonely dame was a lesbian, but on this particular night, my barfly (i now refer to him as mine because he's a character in my account) may have said the right words to get her to loosen up enough for some manly manhandling. I was amazed at the scene.
They kept drinking, i kept working, the night kept doing what it does. Eventually she got up to headed over to the john and I thought nothing of it. She was in there for awhile.. I figured the dame was adjusting her make-up and washing a few things out (or whatever it is that broads do in the bathroom). My barfly walked over to the mens room with the smile of a champion. He came out a few minutes later and went back to his seat at the bar. The lonely dame never returned, and finally, my barfly grew weary and tired and hit the streets like any other decent barfly does, in search of his next prey, devouring what he could, dancing around like a spider needs a fly.
There were two dames sitting over by the pillar that i had been eying for awhile. One had short black hair and a decent looking face, but there was nothing special to her, she was just another broad with broad looks and empty eyes (let's call her empty face). The other dame sitting with her was starry eyed and had an elongated nose, with full lips, a small chin, and looks that would stop a singer mid-song (lets call her Sally). I watched Sally eying me from across the restaurant but i took no stake in it, on account that i had a something steady going on in my life, but i still couldn't help admire a beauty like that from afar. I kept my eye on the duo dames while i worked and watched them progress through a couple rounds of sangria. They emptied their glasses like two little champions and then empty face got up and walked over towards the bathrooms. She walked into the hall and then walked back out, taking a seat where the barfly had sat earlier. i walked over and started talking to her as she motioned for Sally to come and sit with her. She asked me if i thought Sally was pretty. I responded with a firm yes and started asking her probing questions (where you from? Have you been here before? What do you do? yadda yadda yadda...) The conversation was going nowhere quick, and Sally was no help, dame was lamer than church on Wednesdays. i thought i'd shake things up a bit and told Sally that empty face had asked if i thought she was pretty and i said yes. No response from Sally. Go figure i said, dame over here thinks i'm weird. Sally said she really liked weird, so i responded with a hand slap on the counter claiming i was weirder than the weirdest man she's ever met in her whole life. I expected a laugh, or a slight chuckle or giggle, but was only greeted with a look of disdain and apathy. i asked them what they did (since i knew women always like talking about themselves) and they responded with "oh fashion stuff. i'm and assistant to an assistant, and Sally here, well, she's in school for fashion." i tried to make this work in Sally's angle and said that once out of school she had a go in with the fashion industry, I guess she responded. I had about enough of the shit and walked away casually as empty face got up to check on the bathroom situation again. They flagged me back over and mentioned that someone had been in the bathroom for a long time, and they really needed to pee. i told them to use the guy's restroom if they had to go that bad, but they responded with a look of disgust. they both said that men were absolutely disgusting in their habits, which i laughed at very loud. they asked me why i was laughing, and i mentioned how usually i thought women were more disgusting in their habits. I let the argument drop. i thought about it some, and it was true. I had walked into that bathroom, in my own restaurant, and had seen blood soaked tampons and pads on the floor. now that my dear friends, is gross beyond belief. whats the worse a guy can do other than piss on the seat a bit and shit and not flush? you do know that when you leave your menstrual cycle on the floor that someone has to clean that up? As where when a man pisses on the floor, you mop it, it's gone, or a man doesn't flush, well, you kick the handle and it's gone. it's a no foul no play kinda deal. so what's this dame sweating me about taking a pee in the mens restroom?
My bartender walked over and mentioned to me that lonely dame was the last one in the bathroom, and that she might be the one holding the situation up. I told empty face that she was probably in there puking (i didn't like her anyway, so her response didn't matter to me). she responded with typical bullshit and asked me to go and open the door for her. i said no, that it was a bathroom, and it was private to whoever went in there last. i mentioned again that the mens room was more than readily available, but she declined. in the end, empty face and Sally walked out, both flustered and angry, making a scene with me about how i wouldn't open the womans restroom to let them pee.
this is what depressed me. the fact that someone was obviously in there suffering. The lonely dame had a bad night, she was feeling down, she drank a bit too much, okay, that's a given, and she was making out with my barfly, but where in the world does it give the right for one person to put their bladder in front of the well being of another human? Lonely dame is obviously suffering here, and instead of empty face trying to help, being a "sister" or whatever bullshit label girls give to each other, she merely wants to get in close with me so i can open the door to let her pee because she doesn't want to pee in the mens restroom? Who the fuck do you think you are? i hate to disappoint you moron, but that's a goddamn human being in there, puking her fucking guts out, and instead of being sensitive to her situation, you're gonna complain that your bladder hurts? You have the option of peeing in another room and yet you don't take it? i have no sympathy for you. even worse, you want me to go over and open the door on someone who's probably sitting on the toilet passed out drunk? let the dame be drunk. Empty face swears like she's never been in a bad spot before and needed a couple of minutes to get her shit together. i have no sympathy for people like empty face, i hope she gets hit by a goddamn truck doing 90 on the streets. dames like that only think about themselves. and that's the thing, we're all humans here, all i ask for is a little understanding, a little humanity, realizing that she put herself in a bad place, yeah, i get it, but you don't have to carry her home, just give her a minute to collect her nerves and gather enough courage to pull her panties up around her waist. What pisses me off the most is having the option for an out (not the out you want) but an option nonetheless and yet, still having to invade the privacy of a person just so you can piss in a bathroom? i bet if i switched those damn signs around on the doors you wouldn't even notice the difference. why? Because you're that fucking stupid. Whore.
That's what depresses me in life. Humanity. I can walk into a Starbucks and ask for a glass of water, and be constantly turned down, even if i'm sweating up a storm and dying of thirst, they consistently turn me down. What the fuck? i ask to myself, from one human to another, i'm not being belligerent, i'm not begging your customers for money, all i want is a cup of tap water and you can't even give that to me? How far have we gone as humans that we can't even hold doors open for old folks anymore? How far have we gone as humans were we honk at someone who is crossing the street in a wheel chair because they are crossing too slow? How far have we gone as humans where we don't tip, or even say thank you? The decline of humanity is perhaps the saddest thing to watch. It's worse than watching the rain forest be cut down, worse than watching dolphins slaughtered in Japan and even worse than claiming to be vegetarian because you don't like the thought of cows dying. You know all those vegetables you eat every day? They were picked by migrant workers who are in that fucking field for 12 hours and don't get paid over time, their hourly wage is half of what you make an hour, so don't sell me that vegetarian for animal cruelty shit. It's worse to exploit a human than it is to exploit an animal, and i hope you choke on a tomato one day. You stupid self indulgent twat.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Temptations: Standing Atop the Mountain of Drugs, Sex, and Greed.
The phone rang then, I answered without checking the ID. Her voice was soft, and barely audible, she sounded muffled and the television was blaring in the background, it sounded like CNN. I hadn't heard from her since she moved away to Portland. We went through the formalities, and would I like to come see her? She was at the new Ritz Carlton at LA Live in downtown, she had a nice suite, and the bar was plenty. I was convinced then, maybe it was more so the plentiful bar than her, but I was sold to the idea, and I said yes.
I went into the bathroom for a quick shave, as I was waiting for the lather to settle, the wedding ring on the counter was starring back at me. I thought to myself what was I expecting from her? Conversation? Good drink? a dip in the new hotel pool? I knew those were all just excuses, I could feel the ground rumbling, the headlights coming head on. Tossed the wedding ring in my coat pocket and threw on the hat halfway out the door. Started the car and 15mins later it was 3am, and the valet had my car keys. I watched the taillights disappear into the underground parking and felt a cold rush come on me. My hands began to sweat, but it was a cold sweat, my mouth went dry, my legs tensed up. I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette. Thinking about the wrongs and rights of the world. None of this really mattered anyway, it was all just a great big scheme, so what's the difference between doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing? The difference was that it was easy to do the wrong thing, but it took more courage and strength to know what was right, and if it was really right, or just what we tell ourselves is right to justify doing the wrong? I pulled the ring out of my coat pocket and put it on my finger. It fit loose, as if it didn't want to stick to me, but i flexed my hands a bit to get the blood going and it felt tight enough to stay on. I put my hands in my pockets and pushed the elevator button going up.
Here I was, lightly rapping on her door, I put my ear up to the varnished wood and listened, there was some rustling, and then the television volume went down, and the door popped open. She stood there, in all of her glistening beauty. Her hair was loose and waving down to the middle of her back, that long flowing mass of blonde hair tracing down to her hips. I wanted to bury my head in there and take the full smell on, deep into my lungs, that smell of marshmallows. Slowly melting, as those big doe eyes starring at me, that look she always gave, it ate at me all the way to the bone. As if she could see right through me, I felt myself shrinking then, down, down, lower and smaller and smaller. She felt this, and smiled at me, that million dollar smile.... I felt in love again.
The room was this extravagant piece, lots of polished wood, tons of marble, the chairs were these modern things that looked like they came from an expensive Ikea. She was in the king suite, and i stood in the middle of the room a minute, taking it all in. She stood next to me in her small shorts and tight tank top, with her head on my shoulder. I nuzzled my nose into that hair and it took me right back to laying in her bed during those hot mornings, when she would go shower, and i'd have the room to myself, I'd stare out her window at the creepy trees that watched us sleep, fuck, talk, and spoon. After my initial shock, I took a better look at the room and noticed the empty bottles of wine. The bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, and next to the whiskey, the small mountain of cocaine. There were some lines set out, as if she expected me to go right back to our memories. My hands hung loosely at my side, and she took my sweaty palm in her hand, and giggled, I could feel her head rumbling on my shoulder. She had that healthy laugh, she laughed from deep inside of her gut, as other woman laughed out of their throats, that fake laugh, that laugh that they do to fit in, not really even understanding the context of the laugh, but laughing to laugh with other people. Not her, she laughed from deep inside, as if she understood what it was to laugh with your heart, and your mind.
"It looks like you've been doing well..." Yes she said, I have. She took my coat and hat and poured me out a whiskey neat. The chairs looked as if they would be very comfortable, but when i sat down, they weren't. They were stiff and new. I like worn things, things with age, they seemed to fit better into my liking.
"Hows the writing?" she asked.
"It's going..."
"Still have that spot online?"
"no, I changed it."
"why?"
"I don't like people in my head. and i'd write about something, and people would misinterpret it and think i was writing about them, and then we'd have this tension between us, over something that originally had nothing to even do with them. People are so self important, they think everything is about them.."
"You're so full of shit."
"It's true!"
"How do you expect to get published? Who do you think you are? Fucking J.D. Salinger? Just 'cause someone thinks you're thinking about them doesn't mean you should change what you love. Fuck them. Just keep going. Damned if you don't and damned if you do."
"This is true"
I sipped my whiskey, it was good whiskey. I ignored the coke on the table, I didn't want to go there now. She was right about the site. She uncrossed and then recrossed her legs. I thought about what a lucky bastard I was. Here I am, in this swank hotel, with this gorgeous broad, and some good drink and drugs. Was this it? i hopped not. She had the head tilt going, she was examining me, interrogating me with her eyes.
"You're going to write about this aren't you?"
"probably"
"You're nutty"
She got up and walked over to my chair and sat on my lap. She took my hand and put it down her shorts. She was wet alright. I ran my thumb over the ring on my left hand. My right hand was resting on her box. Shit, this was intense, wedding ring on one hand, and moist vagina on the other. What's a guy to do? She got up and took her shirt off. Her bra was this heavy padded thing in black lace. I always felt cheated with her, she had (what appeared to be) these huge breast pushing out of her shirt all the time. But once you got that shirt off, they were just decent tits in a padded bra. It was like watching those commercials for fast food. On television, the water droplets were hanging off the lettuce, the tomato was this bright red, and the meat was always glistening and moist. But when you unwrapped your burger, it was just this small piece of bread with meat slapped in the middle. I felt cheated then, and I felt cheated now.
She took some of the coke and put it on her tit. She motioned for me to take the bump, to start what would end up being this mass of hysteria and sex in this cold hotel room. I was tempted to do it, to snort that goddamn cocaine up my nose and into my system, and pound this whiskey down, and pin her to the floor and fuck her as if this was our last night on earth. We'd sweat up a storm, and then fuck in the shower. When we were done, i'd run her a bath, and wash her. She just lay there glowing, and i'd soap her up and wash her down, treat her like a decent dame ought to be treated. When would I ever get this chance again in my life? She'd be here for at least a month, doing her work, selling those clothes she designed, running all around downtown setting up store deals. Every once in a while, i'd be walking down the street and see some of her stuff displayed in the boutique windows. I'd know it was her right off the cuff, but i'd walk into the store and ask who the designer was, and they'd always say her name. It made me smile, it was nostalgic.
I stood up and asked if i could use the bathroom for a second. She motioned for me to take the bump off of her tit. So i did, i leaned over and snorted it way up into my nose. It was decent shit, she had done well. I kissed her forehead and walked into the bathroom. The bathroom was the size of my bedroom in my apartment. It was this fancy deal covered in marble with a tub and a stand up shower. I ran some water over my face and washed my hands. I took the ring off and put it on the counter. The mirror had a t.v. built into it, CNN was running on it. The top story was about the rise in the price of silver. We should be buying silver and gold. Those prices were never driven down because it was tangible material. If the world economy shut down, that would be the new money. I didn't really give a shit about gold or silver. Or gas or the dolphins or the stupid "Falling Whistles" in the congo. None of that shit mattered. True, it is a sad thing, but at the same time, what good do you do by wearing that whistle around your neck? Nothing... Nothing... You're just some fucker with a whistle around your neck preaching to other people about how great you are. You do not contribute to the true effort, but rather, you are only taking the value away from it... I didn't want to do this. This wasn't me. I had never been a cheater, and I was getting ready to be one.
I unbolted the door and walked into the room. She was sitting in the chair naked, with her legs crossed. I melted then, in that second, my knees became weak, and I was molten, inside and out. I put my head down and looked at my shoes, I held my left hand into the air and muttered, "i'm married". She didn't hear me, asked me what I said, so I said it louder this time, and she stayed quiet. I started explaining about the girl, how we had been married only a short time, and that I was happy to see her, but i didn't want this to go somewhere that we couldn't come back from... I was still looking at my shoes, and suddenly, I was hit in the chest with a lamp. It took me off of my feet and I landed on my back. I was lost for a second, processing what just happened, did she really just throw a fucking lamp at me? Shit, she did.. Fucking a... I got my grip again and started getting up. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shoe flying towards me, a high heel i believe, and I put my arm up to deflect it. Once i was on my feet, I surveyed the room and realized she was between me and the door. This wouldn't be an easy stroll out of the door.
"You fucking asshole!"
"I didn't think IT would come to this woman!"
She reached for the wine bottle and cocked her arm back, I focused and as soon as the bottle left her hand, i dodged it. The wine bottle flew into the headboard of the bed and didn't crack, but ricocheted down onto the bed. She threw two more bottles, each landing softly in a well padded couch or chair. All those years of dodgeball really helped, and now i understood why there were so many damn chairs in this room. She reached for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.
"No. NO NO! Not the whiskey. Please!" i said.
She let her grip go, and came rushing at me. I stood my ground and waited for her to be close, and then I busted the old football move and put my right hand on her right shoulder, pushing her aside, letting her weight carry her full on into the couch head first. I sprinted for the door and was halfway out when i realized the ring was still on the bathroom counter! Shit! I turned around and she was standing in the middle of the room, naked, with her hair strands coming down over her face. I slowly circled my way towards the bathroom, and she followed at a distance. I broke in and grabbed the ring, and came back out in a flash. She came at me with that wine bottle raised high over her head. I put my shoulders down and dug into her midsection, tossing her onto the floor, as the bottle came down on the middle of my back. I stood up and blitzed for the door, hearing another ruckus begin, I ditched the elevator and took the stairs all the way down into the lobby.
I was sweating when I made it into the lobby. I gave the valet my ticket and hid in the shrubs off to the side just in case she came looking for me. He took so long to get my car. I felt like i was waiting a lifetime (it was probably 10mins). I was keeping an eye on the door hoping she wouldn't come out. I was nervous, damn nervous, my hands were drenched, and my back was hurting something mean. I waited, and waited, and waited, and then I heard someone screaming in the lobby. Screaming rape. It was her. She was telling the desk guy that I had tried to rape her! What the fuck?! Jesus Christ was nothing sacred? I saw the guy coming up the ramp with my car and i ran out of the shrubs with a $10 bill in my hand. I jumped in front of my beaten car and he came to a stop a few inches from me. I ran over to the door and popped it open, grabbed him by the vest jacket and pulled him out, the car kept slowly rolling, because the kid didn't have time to put it into park, i jumped into it as fast as i could, but bumped my head on the way in. I quickly surveyed the surroundings and punched it. Pedal to the metal. I stuck my hand out the window waving the $10 bill and threw it into the main drive. I saw the kid standing there, with her next to him. Luckily i was far enough that she couldn't catch my license.
I laughed to myself, and it felt good then, i had made a close call and missed a felony. I felt around in my coat pocket for my ring and slipped it back on my finger. I realized then, that no matter what the hell went on in this place, this goddamn world, it was well worth it to push out a little far beyond the edge, to hang on by a goddamn limb to sanity. I smiled the whole drive home, because life was not without a sense of guilt, rage, anger, laughter, sex, trouble and happiness. i was happy then in that moment, because i had survived another incident, and i laughed loud and hard, straight from my gut, because i would write about this, and she would read it. And that, that in itself, wound this whole thing together, i had a feeling then, i had a feeling that everything would eventually be alright.
I went into the bathroom for a quick shave, as I was waiting for the lather to settle, the wedding ring on the counter was starring back at me. I thought to myself what was I expecting from her? Conversation? Good drink? a dip in the new hotel pool? I knew those were all just excuses, I could feel the ground rumbling, the headlights coming head on. Tossed the wedding ring in my coat pocket and threw on the hat halfway out the door. Started the car and 15mins later it was 3am, and the valet had my car keys. I watched the taillights disappear into the underground parking and felt a cold rush come on me. My hands began to sweat, but it was a cold sweat, my mouth went dry, my legs tensed up. I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette. Thinking about the wrongs and rights of the world. None of this really mattered anyway, it was all just a great big scheme, so what's the difference between doing the right thing and doing the wrong thing? The difference was that it was easy to do the wrong thing, but it took more courage and strength to know what was right, and if it was really right, or just what we tell ourselves is right to justify doing the wrong? I pulled the ring out of my coat pocket and put it on my finger. It fit loose, as if it didn't want to stick to me, but i flexed my hands a bit to get the blood going and it felt tight enough to stay on. I put my hands in my pockets and pushed the elevator button going up.
Here I was, lightly rapping on her door, I put my ear up to the varnished wood and listened, there was some rustling, and then the television volume went down, and the door popped open. She stood there, in all of her glistening beauty. Her hair was loose and waving down to the middle of her back, that long flowing mass of blonde hair tracing down to her hips. I wanted to bury my head in there and take the full smell on, deep into my lungs, that smell of marshmallows. Slowly melting, as those big doe eyes starring at me, that look she always gave, it ate at me all the way to the bone. As if she could see right through me, I felt myself shrinking then, down, down, lower and smaller and smaller. She felt this, and smiled at me, that million dollar smile.... I felt in love again.
The room was this extravagant piece, lots of polished wood, tons of marble, the chairs were these modern things that looked like they came from an expensive Ikea. She was in the king suite, and i stood in the middle of the room a minute, taking it all in. She stood next to me in her small shorts and tight tank top, with her head on my shoulder. I nuzzled my nose into that hair and it took me right back to laying in her bed during those hot mornings, when she would go shower, and i'd have the room to myself, I'd stare out her window at the creepy trees that watched us sleep, fuck, talk, and spoon. After my initial shock, I took a better look at the room and noticed the empty bottles of wine. The bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, and next to the whiskey, the small mountain of cocaine. There were some lines set out, as if she expected me to go right back to our memories. My hands hung loosely at my side, and she took my sweaty palm in her hand, and giggled, I could feel her head rumbling on my shoulder. She had that healthy laugh, she laughed from deep inside of her gut, as other woman laughed out of their throats, that fake laugh, that laugh that they do to fit in, not really even understanding the context of the laugh, but laughing to laugh with other people. Not her, she laughed from deep inside, as if she understood what it was to laugh with your heart, and your mind.
"It looks like you've been doing well..." Yes she said, I have. She took my coat and hat and poured me out a whiskey neat. The chairs looked as if they would be very comfortable, but when i sat down, they weren't. They were stiff and new. I like worn things, things with age, they seemed to fit better into my liking.
"Hows the writing?" she asked.
"It's going..."
"Still have that spot online?"
"no, I changed it."
"why?"
"I don't like people in my head. and i'd write about something, and people would misinterpret it and think i was writing about them, and then we'd have this tension between us, over something that originally had nothing to even do with them. People are so self important, they think everything is about them.."
"You're so full of shit."
"It's true!"
"How do you expect to get published? Who do you think you are? Fucking J.D. Salinger? Just 'cause someone thinks you're thinking about them doesn't mean you should change what you love. Fuck them. Just keep going. Damned if you don't and damned if you do."
"This is true"
I sipped my whiskey, it was good whiskey. I ignored the coke on the table, I didn't want to go there now. She was right about the site. She uncrossed and then recrossed her legs. I thought about what a lucky bastard I was. Here I am, in this swank hotel, with this gorgeous broad, and some good drink and drugs. Was this it? i hopped not. She had the head tilt going, she was examining me, interrogating me with her eyes.
"You're going to write about this aren't you?"
"probably"
"You're nutty"
She got up and walked over to my chair and sat on my lap. She took my hand and put it down her shorts. She was wet alright. I ran my thumb over the ring on my left hand. My right hand was resting on her box. Shit, this was intense, wedding ring on one hand, and moist vagina on the other. What's a guy to do? She got up and took her shirt off. Her bra was this heavy padded thing in black lace. I always felt cheated with her, she had (what appeared to be) these huge breast pushing out of her shirt all the time. But once you got that shirt off, they were just decent tits in a padded bra. It was like watching those commercials for fast food. On television, the water droplets were hanging off the lettuce, the tomato was this bright red, and the meat was always glistening and moist. But when you unwrapped your burger, it was just this small piece of bread with meat slapped in the middle. I felt cheated then, and I felt cheated now.
She took some of the coke and put it on her tit. She motioned for me to take the bump, to start what would end up being this mass of hysteria and sex in this cold hotel room. I was tempted to do it, to snort that goddamn cocaine up my nose and into my system, and pound this whiskey down, and pin her to the floor and fuck her as if this was our last night on earth. We'd sweat up a storm, and then fuck in the shower. When we were done, i'd run her a bath, and wash her. She just lay there glowing, and i'd soap her up and wash her down, treat her like a decent dame ought to be treated. When would I ever get this chance again in my life? She'd be here for at least a month, doing her work, selling those clothes she designed, running all around downtown setting up store deals. Every once in a while, i'd be walking down the street and see some of her stuff displayed in the boutique windows. I'd know it was her right off the cuff, but i'd walk into the store and ask who the designer was, and they'd always say her name. It made me smile, it was nostalgic.
I stood up and asked if i could use the bathroom for a second. She motioned for me to take the bump off of her tit. So i did, i leaned over and snorted it way up into my nose. It was decent shit, she had done well. I kissed her forehead and walked into the bathroom. The bathroom was the size of my bedroom in my apartment. It was this fancy deal covered in marble with a tub and a stand up shower. I ran some water over my face and washed my hands. I took the ring off and put it on the counter. The mirror had a t.v. built into it, CNN was running on it. The top story was about the rise in the price of silver. We should be buying silver and gold. Those prices were never driven down because it was tangible material. If the world economy shut down, that would be the new money. I didn't really give a shit about gold or silver. Or gas or the dolphins or the stupid "Falling Whistles" in the congo. None of that shit mattered. True, it is a sad thing, but at the same time, what good do you do by wearing that whistle around your neck? Nothing... Nothing... You're just some fucker with a whistle around your neck preaching to other people about how great you are. You do not contribute to the true effort, but rather, you are only taking the value away from it... I didn't want to do this. This wasn't me. I had never been a cheater, and I was getting ready to be one.
I unbolted the door and walked into the room. She was sitting in the chair naked, with her legs crossed. I melted then, in that second, my knees became weak, and I was molten, inside and out. I put my head down and looked at my shoes, I held my left hand into the air and muttered, "i'm married". She didn't hear me, asked me what I said, so I said it louder this time, and she stayed quiet. I started explaining about the girl, how we had been married only a short time, and that I was happy to see her, but i didn't want this to go somewhere that we couldn't come back from... I was still looking at my shoes, and suddenly, I was hit in the chest with a lamp. It took me off of my feet and I landed on my back. I was lost for a second, processing what just happened, did she really just throw a fucking lamp at me? Shit, she did.. Fucking a... I got my grip again and started getting up. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shoe flying towards me, a high heel i believe, and I put my arm up to deflect it. Once i was on my feet, I surveyed the room and realized she was between me and the door. This wouldn't be an easy stroll out of the door.
"You fucking asshole!"
"I didn't think IT would come to this woman!"
She reached for the wine bottle and cocked her arm back, I focused and as soon as the bottle left her hand, i dodged it. The wine bottle flew into the headboard of the bed and didn't crack, but ricocheted down onto the bed. She threw two more bottles, each landing softly in a well padded couch or chair. All those years of dodgeball really helped, and now i understood why there were so many damn chairs in this room. She reached for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table.
"No. NO NO! Not the whiskey. Please!" i said.
She let her grip go, and came rushing at me. I stood my ground and waited for her to be close, and then I busted the old football move and put my right hand on her right shoulder, pushing her aside, letting her weight carry her full on into the couch head first. I sprinted for the door and was halfway out when i realized the ring was still on the bathroom counter! Shit! I turned around and she was standing in the middle of the room, naked, with her hair strands coming down over her face. I slowly circled my way towards the bathroom, and she followed at a distance. I broke in and grabbed the ring, and came back out in a flash. She came at me with that wine bottle raised high over her head. I put my shoulders down and dug into her midsection, tossing her onto the floor, as the bottle came down on the middle of my back. I stood up and blitzed for the door, hearing another ruckus begin, I ditched the elevator and took the stairs all the way down into the lobby.
I was sweating when I made it into the lobby. I gave the valet my ticket and hid in the shrubs off to the side just in case she came looking for me. He took so long to get my car. I felt like i was waiting a lifetime (it was probably 10mins). I was keeping an eye on the door hoping she wouldn't come out. I was nervous, damn nervous, my hands were drenched, and my back was hurting something mean. I waited, and waited, and waited, and then I heard someone screaming in the lobby. Screaming rape. It was her. She was telling the desk guy that I had tried to rape her! What the fuck?! Jesus Christ was nothing sacred? I saw the guy coming up the ramp with my car and i ran out of the shrubs with a $10 bill in my hand. I jumped in front of my beaten car and he came to a stop a few inches from me. I ran over to the door and popped it open, grabbed him by the vest jacket and pulled him out, the car kept slowly rolling, because the kid didn't have time to put it into park, i jumped into it as fast as i could, but bumped my head on the way in. I quickly surveyed the surroundings and punched it. Pedal to the metal. I stuck my hand out the window waving the $10 bill and threw it into the main drive. I saw the kid standing there, with her next to him. Luckily i was far enough that she couldn't catch my license.
I laughed to myself, and it felt good then, i had made a close call and missed a felony. I felt around in my coat pocket for my ring and slipped it back on my finger. I realized then, that no matter what the hell went on in this place, this goddamn world, it was well worth it to push out a little far beyond the edge, to hang on by a goddamn limb to sanity. I smiled the whole drive home, because life was not without a sense of guilt, rage, anger, laughter, sex, trouble and happiness. i was happy then in that moment, because i had survived another incident, and i laughed loud and hard, straight from my gut, because i would write about this, and she would read it. And that, that in itself, wound this whole thing together, i had a feeling then, i had a feeling that everything would eventually be alright.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sucking the Marrow from the Bone
It's a difficult thing to write honestly without sounding like a pretentious prick. Over time and now, I can feel my knuckles cramping and fingers gnawing at themselves unless I sit down and write it all out. I used to write about women, but then i met one i held onto. I use to write about the shortcoming of humanity, but i realized that what i thought were shortcomings were only ignorance and deception. The person doing the wrong never saw their fault, and i deceived myself into thinking that it was up to me to change something. i too, was lost, in a world where change was something you could do all on your own, and i felt responsible to express my opinion, even though, most times, nobody ever was asking for it. i had stepped out of line, i had done what i could do, said what i said, and pissed off many on the way around the course, and now, i knew, that whatever kept this place spinning, kept me going, had me here for however longer, i was nothing more than a spec in the universe. My problems don't matter, my reactions and family and society were all built to suit me, to manage me, to train and keep me fatigued, to keep my eyes and mind busy, so i couldn't ask questions or be alert. i found out what they were trying to do, and by-god man, i wouldn't go down without leaving a small piece behind.
i wonder why people insist on coming here to read my brain spawn? This is the garbage of my head pouring out onto some paper. i can't use the typewriter anymore, it makes this mad noise late at night and the neighbors and my roommate can't get a decent nights sleep. So now i'm back to this, back to this computer, back to this machine. I find it funny that I constantly push people out of my life, and they keep trying to wiggle their way back in. As if not answering my phone or your text messages was not enough. You don't understand that i just want you to leave me alone, and if you did care about my happiness, you would write me out of yours like i just wrote you out of mine. and yet, you still come here to read this and be continually hurt by my words that aren't even met for you in particular. you're searching for a meaning in a pile of fucking railroad spikes.. you'd have better luck starring at something your friend put together at ArtWalk than trying to find a meaning in all of these rambles... yet, you still continue to come here to be hurt. Where's the logic in that? When was the last time i reached out to any of you? Why do you reach out to me? i have to come home to find you sitting on the stairs to my apartment. i politely ask you to leave, and yet you remain, and you keep bothering me, annoying me, and i ask you, very nicely to please go away, until finally i have to tell you to "get the fuck out of my life"...
and then...
you cry. and you sob. and you say that you only want to help me, be my friend. i need your friendship like i need a hole in my head..
maybe you don't get it. I don't want to clutter my life with any of these bullshit people problems. Because your problems don't mean anything here, and neither do mines. We create problems with no solution to keep us entertained. We create little projects, we try and live our lives on a grand scale, as if our meager efforts to move life along will mean anything.
I'm very proud when i write, and i come off black or white.. there's never any grey area for me when it comes to putting it down on paper, it all seems so clear, so tangible, i can almost reach out and fuck it. Anyone who knows me well can always find me alone, usually reading, or smoking a cigarette outside. I know that my view of this place is so one sided, and i have no excuse for that. Maybe i'm not as intelligent as i believe myself to be. Perhaps if i was smart, i'd find a way to make myself stupid, to sit back and live the Walmart American Dream. To sit back and smile and be content with the system, the wife, the polar icecaps and the whiskey. To try and believe for a better tomorrow, to hope for change, to hope for fight, to hope for a sunny day.
You know the thing about hope? It breeds disappointment. If you have a realistic enough view of the world, and you try to understand it's inner workings, try to find the system, try to find a way to manipulate the system, then at least you can say that you knew going in, you might not come back alive. But what the fuck does sitting around "hopping" do for you? Not a goddamn thing. I can sit here and hope all day. You know what that'll get me? A sore ass and a lost day. Hope is radioactive toilet water, you drink it down into your belly and eventually you die a slow blind death at the hands of faith and promise, and no one will ever remember you as what you really are, but as how they saw you through their own blurred, butchered, and vain vision. it's the same as you reading this, you draw your own conclusion as to what i may be, how i may treat others, but in fact, your judgement means nothing to me, you're just hits on the visitor counter.
have a nice day
i know i will.
:)
i wonder why people insist on coming here to read my brain spawn? This is the garbage of my head pouring out onto some paper. i can't use the typewriter anymore, it makes this mad noise late at night and the neighbors and my roommate can't get a decent nights sleep. So now i'm back to this, back to this computer, back to this machine. I find it funny that I constantly push people out of my life, and they keep trying to wiggle their way back in. As if not answering my phone or your text messages was not enough. You don't understand that i just want you to leave me alone, and if you did care about my happiness, you would write me out of yours like i just wrote you out of mine. and yet, you still come here to read this and be continually hurt by my words that aren't even met for you in particular. you're searching for a meaning in a pile of fucking railroad spikes.. you'd have better luck starring at something your friend put together at ArtWalk than trying to find a meaning in all of these rambles... yet, you still continue to come here to be hurt. Where's the logic in that? When was the last time i reached out to any of you? Why do you reach out to me? i have to come home to find you sitting on the stairs to my apartment. i politely ask you to leave, and yet you remain, and you keep bothering me, annoying me, and i ask you, very nicely to please go away, until finally i have to tell you to "get the fuck out of my life"...
and then...
you cry. and you sob. and you say that you only want to help me, be my friend. i need your friendship like i need a hole in my head..
maybe you don't get it. I don't want to clutter my life with any of these bullshit people problems. Because your problems don't mean anything here, and neither do mines. We create problems with no solution to keep us entertained. We create little projects, we try and live our lives on a grand scale, as if our meager efforts to move life along will mean anything.
I'm very proud when i write, and i come off black or white.. there's never any grey area for me when it comes to putting it down on paper, it all seems so clear, so tangible, i can almost reach out and fuck it. Anyone who knows me well can always find me alone, usually reading, or smoking a cigarette outside. I know that my view of this place is so one sided, and i have no excuse for that. Maybe i'm not as intelligent as i believe myself to be. Perhaps if i was smart, i'd find a way to make myself stupid, to sit back and live the Walmart American Dream. To sit back and smile and be content with the system, the wife, the polar icecaps and the whiskey. To try and believe for a better tomorrow, to hope for change, to hope for fight, to hope for a sunny day.
You know the thing about hope? It breeds disappointment. If you have a realistic enough view of the world, and you try to understand it's inner workings, try to find the system, try to find a way to manipulate the system, then at least you can say that you knew going in, you might not come back alive. But what the fuck does sitting around "hopping" do for you? Not a goddamn thing. I can sit here and hope all day. You know what that'll get me? A sore ass and a lost day. Hope is radioactive toilet water, you drink it down into your belly and eventually you die a slow blind death at the hands of faith and promise, and no one will ever remember you as what you really are, but as how they saw you through their own blurred, butchered, and vain vision. it's the same as you reading this, you draw your own conclusion as to what i may be, how i may treat others, but in fact, your judgement means nothing to me, you're just hits on the visitor counter.
have a nice day
i know i will.
:)
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A New Order Inspiration
A New Order Inspiration
a thousand people into the sea
I see a thousand people a lot like me
a million souls who
get those words wrong...
but still I get those words wrong
I get those words wrong....
be it destiny fate or something abstract
we match like matches in a
strike anywhere pack
we still know our place
and we're deep in our place...
the woman speaks to me in phrases
and I decoded them to the best
of my ability
but shambles lay at the feet of
goddess and we both wonder
about these words
these words
so solitary and alone
we want to be cool and on our own
but we let these words down
and I wear the ring...
the ring that was made up on our places
made up on fake and pretentious phrases
but there was some truth there
some truth in the love
a lot like someone from the other
phrase
but still
we get those words wrong...
we try to be something we are not
and feels fake and something bought
but we still stagger along on our
own beat to our own drum
and it feels cheese-ball and fake
but
we drag ourselves along...
break in the silence like
the peace
I see a lot like you
like you see in me
and we were meant to be
from the start....
the distance makes us grow fonder
makes us appreciate where we fault
where we wonder like
two forbidden dreamers in the dream
like architects yet to be seen
like developers of a land proper
down and out like someone
stopped us
but we struggle on
we struggle on
it's all we know..
this may not be the dream you saw
this may not be the things you dream
but inside of us something invade our space
and now we must realize
it's not something wearing that
despising
disguise.
No matter how far we seem
the dream will be a lot like me
whether you like it or not
whether you like it or not
it'll be me
it'll be me
it'll be me
it'll be me..
it'll be me..
whether you like it or not
it'll be me
and you'll be mine
in this mine
in this mine
in this mind....
Friday, October 15, 2010
You're Calling 2 Alabama's - the Rush is On
i looked around and listened for a bit, this was where i didn't want to be. i heard people clinging to those long lost hopes and it pressed me further into depression. they all wanted to be something, to be someone, to save something, to save the whale, to save the dolphin, to save the planet, to save humanity, when in there innermost being, they couldn't even save themselves... i saw them all as hypocrites and mass hysteria. Everything was dying, there was no way around that one, and i didn't want to save anything. the best i know, it all has a playground full of hope, and the hope only lets you down, the strong feed off the weak and the weak inherit the burden of this foul stench. we were nothing but rodents and pawns in their labyrinth, and we confused this labyrinth for life. who knows how real reality is? or who knows how fake this reality is? i did believe in some kind of moral value, i did believe in some kind of right doing. but in the end, the rights are done wrong and the wrong is forgiven for ignorance, so the the rights are never accounted for and the wrongs are just assumed for the proper pepper way of doing things. oh what sorrow to live in this fucked up planet, but alas we must try and make our peace...
make our peace, which got me thinking, how does one, who is not easy impressed, how does one, who does not take things lightly, how does one who rarely laugh take these steps of life in lightheartedness? that's a hell of question to question??? how do you cross the line between the evil doers of the other side and the evildoers of this side? what complicated lives we lead in this tangled web that we conspire to conceive.....
when the alcohol rushes through your blood veins, do you have that same closer eye view that i have? do we share the same image of the world burning? perhaps???? i hope for an anarchy to overrule at least this fair nation, where the meek shall inherit the earth.. but many before me have hoped for the same and any result they received was disappointing... so do you just give up?
no. i believe that the proper way of doing things is to night fight against the system, but yet, find a way to work the system to our advantage. you corrupt them from the inside out, because they'll never suspect you, and you can easily manipulate this place to work in your advantage. it is true, that many people now on top have manipulated the system to work for them, but these are people full of greed and hunger. they want everything and they want it now. what if? by proxy? we were handed someone to control everything without a certain sense of guilt? idealistic i know, but if sharing is caring.. than share and smoke 'em if you got 'em.
my brain spirals, and these are all samples, all tidbits of a bigger picture. i got no choice but to be here, but to comprehend and live with this. this apartment. this furniture. this dog. this woman. this roommate. this job and this money. if it were up to me, i'd move into a cabin far off into the woods and write about solitary until i was blue in the face, but alas, i cannot. so i'm gonna live here, amongst the weasels, amongst the rats, amongst the rodents and living, crawling beings to try and make sense of this stupid time here that was meant only to disappoint, withdraw, and hide me. he who laughs last.....
laughs alone.
so deal with it.
make our peace, which got me thinking, how does one, who is not easy impressed, how does one, who does not take things lightly, how does one who rarely laugh take these steps of life in lightheartedness? that's a hell of question to question??? how do you cross the line between the evil doers of the other side and the evildoers of this side? what complicated lives we lead in this tangled web that we conspire to conceive.....
when the alcohol rushes through your blood veins, do you have that same closer eye view that i have? do we share the same image of the world burning? perhaps???? i hope for an anarchy to overrule at least this fair nation, where the meek shall inherit the earth.. but many before me have hoped for the same and any result they received was disappointing... so do you just give up?
no. i believe that the proper way of doing things is to night fight against the system, but yet, find a way to work the system to our advantage. you corrupt them from the inside out, because they'll never suspect you, and you can easily manipulate this place to work in your advantage. it is true, that many people now on top have manipulated the system to work for them, but these are people full of greed and hunger. they want everything and they want it now. what if? by proxy? we were handed someone to control everything without a certain sense of guilt? idealistic i know, but if sharing is caring.. than share and smoke 'em if you got 'em.
my brain spirals, and these are all samples, all tidbits of a bigger picture. i got no choice but to be here, but to comprehend and live with this. this apartment. this furniture. this dog. this woman. this roommate. this job and this money. if it were up to me, i'd move into a cabin far off into the woods and write about solitary until i was blue in the face, but alas, i cannot. so i'm gonna live here, amongst the weasels, amongst the rats, amongst the rodents and living, crawling beings to try and make sense of this stupid time here that was meant only to disappoint, withdraw, and hide me. he who laughs last.....
laughs alone.
so deal with it.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
looking left, the streets normal with traffic, normal with people, normal with normalcy, it seemed like the rag was blowing fate, but i didn't even see his face as he passed me by, like two strangers passing in a hallway, not even nodding... the cloud drifted around and blocked out the sun a bit, shading his eyes, he took the pencil from his ear and sat on the curb, drawing out interlocking circles, time slipping from his bloody palms...
Monday, October 11, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Just Give Me the Usual - Death at the Hands of Contemporary Society
There was a time, at least, perhaps, I can remember a time, when we weren't all such little whining crybabies when we walked into a restaurant. Although, I'm sure that there's always been someone pouting far off in a corner somewhere about not having enough mustard on their sandwich, these times might of been rarer then than they are now. It was a simple time then, and it seems as though it might of been simple because of the trust we had in whatever it was we were putting in our mouths and who ever the person behind the counter was, we could feel good knowing that he was doing the best he could.
Whatever happened to places where you walked in to the spot and could look over the menu, choose what you wanted and didn't ask for any substitutions? Having trust in knowing that if they got you in the door and you're sitting down, then just take it as it is. Allergies I can understand, but simply removing ingredients from a sandwich, or a composed plate, only because you don't like them boggles my mind. The ingredients are there for a reason, a flavor profile, picked for optimal flavor, you start pulling pieces out and you're fucking with the tower of taste. It may have something to do with the fact that people now have become more demanding than ever. Stand in a Starbucks for 5 minutes and you'll hear some of the stupidest request ever to leave someones mouth. And why do the people keep doing this? It's because we let them, because we allow it to happen, and in doing so, we allow our product to lose any integrity it ever had. If you're going to serve it that way, then you're serving shit food to shit people. It's true that money is green no matter where it comes from, but there's something out there more important than just a few dollars, there's a joy, a joy in food, that no amount of money can ever put down.
I realize that this isn't the world we live in, it's reached critical mass, we can no longer stand away from the crowd and shout, but have to submit to the crowd and let them have our way with us. Give them what they want, however it is they want it, and bow down to the dollars that be. Personally, I can't do that, but i can understand it, and i know it's what makes this place exactly what it is. There was a time once, where we could just say, "i'll take the usual." But that time has ceased to be, and what are we left with now? We're left with bland, tasteless, poor quality food. But the people are happy, because they get what they want.
I don't want to give you what you want, i want to give you something that will blow your fucking taste buds down your throat and have you sit there in a coma, in a euphoric state, that can come close to sexual and borderline on sleepyhead.
This is all speculation. It's a thought on how things should be, but never will. This is not how things work now. The heart is in the right place, but the reality of the situation over rules that kind of love and leaves us with a small hole in our chest that can never be filled, no matter how much whiskey, cigarette smoke, or pills you shove down in there, there's always going to be that hole where the right kind of love should live, but the right kind of love does not exist, so we must cope with the society norms and stand quietly with our hands behind our back and submit. Submission to the dollar, submission to the request, submission to any kind of defensive move we can make to keep our product as pure as possible. I realize i am the only one who thinks along these lines, and in an idealistic fashion, they do sound correct, but realistically i'm just dying slowly.
You can no longer take the usual. You must now take option 1 with no carrots, and sauce b instead of sauce a. In fact, I've changed my mind, could you please give me option 2 with a side of option 1 *sans carrots* and sauce a is okay, but if you could spoon a little of sauce b into sauce a and swirl them together, not mix, because if you mix them it gives a weird tint and taste, but swirl, yes i said swirl, please swirl them together, oh, and also, can you make sure you don't put any of that parsley on there, i hear that stuff gives you cancer and it's also very salty.
This is the world. I live here. This is the way it is now. Suicide is not an option. So now i must submit and keep this idea out back, along with all the others that no longer apply to our dwindling society that has their heads wrapped around technology. There was a time when being smart, being quick, being intelligent was something to reach towards. Now it seems that nostalgia is passed it's time.. Stupidity is the new cool, and the smart kids are just pessimistic little bastards, with strong views, opinions, and thoughts. Embrace me technology and simple minded fashion. Love me, twitter me, facebook me, fuck me like on tv, blind me, blind me, white light, oh blind me.
Whatever happened to places where you walked in to the spot and could look over the menu, choose what you wanted and didn't ask for any substitutions? Having trust in knowing that if they got you in the door and you're sitting down, then just take it as it is. Allergies I can understand, but simply removing ingredients from a sandwich, or a composed plate, only because you don't like them boggles my mind. The ingredients are there for a reason, a flavor profile, picked for optimal flavor, you start pulling pieces out and you're fucking with the tower of taste. It may have something to do with the fact that people now have become more demanding than ever. Stand in a Starbucks for 5 minutes and you'll hear some of the stupidest request ever to leave someones mouth. And why do the people keep doing this? It's because we let them, because we allow it to happen, and in doing so, we allow our product to lose any integrity it ever had. If you're going to serve it that way, then you're serving shit food to shit people. It's true that money is green no matter where it comes from, but there's something out there more important than just a few dollars, there's a joy, a joy in food, that no amount of money can ever put down.
I realize that this isn't the world we live in, it's reached critical mass, we can no longer stand away from the crowd and shout, but have to submit to the crowd and let them have our way with us. Give them what they want, however it is they want it, and bow down to the dollars that be. Personally, I can't do that, but i can understand it, and i know it's what makes this place exactly what it is. There was a time once, where we could just say, "i'll take the usual." But that time has ceased to be, and what are we left with now? We're left with bland, tasteless, poor quality food. But the people are happy, because they get what they want.
I don't want to give you what you want, i want to give you something that will blow your fucking taste buds down your throat and have you sit there in a coma, in a euphoric state, that can come close to sexual and borderline on sleepyhead.
This is all speculation. It's a thought on how things should be, but never will. This is not how things work now. The heart is in the right place, but the reality of the situation over rules that kind of love and leaves us with a small hole in our chest that can never be filled, no matter how much whiskey, cigarette smoke, or pills you shove down in there, there's always going to be that hole where the right kind of love should live, but the right kind of love does not exist, so we must cope with the society norms and stand quietly with our hands behind our back and submit. Submission to the dollar, submission to the request, submission to any kind of defensive move we can make to keep our product as pure as possible. I realize i am the only one who thinks along these lines, and in an idealistic fashion, they do sound correct, but realistically i'm just dying slowly.
You can no longer take the usual. You must now take option 1 with no carrots, and sauce b instead of sauce a. In fact, I've changed my mind, could you please give me option 2 with a side of option 1 *sans carrots* and sauce a is okay, but if you could spoon a little of sauce b into sauce a and swirl them together, not mix, because if you mix them it gives a weird tint and taste, but swirl, yes i said swirl, please swirl them together, oh, and also, can you make sure you don't put any of that parsley on there, i hear that stuff gives you cancer and it's also very salty.
This is the world. I live here. This is the way it is now. Suicide is not an option. So now i must submit and keep this idea out back, along with all the others that no longer apply to our dwindling society that has their heads wrapped around technology. There was a time when being smart, being quick, being intelligent was something to reach towards. Now it seems that nostalgia is passed it's time.. Stupidity is the new cool, and the smart kids are just pessimistic little bastards, with strong views, opinions, and thoughts. Embrace me technology and simple minded fashion. Love me, twitter me, facebook me, fuck me like on tv, blind me, blind me, white light, oh blind me.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
it was a strange town, with a strange, strange smell. a thick smell, that seemed to cover you like a film and filter into your lungs, clinging to your insides like a devil kicking your kidneys with golf shoes. my feet hurt. they hurt bad. i had double socked and still i could feel the bubbles forming on the souls. we had been down and out, out and about, down and around all over this damn island. all over this damn city. we were tired, they more than me, it was only my second day on the trip as mad delirium creeping up on me. they were already there, and wondering how they could keep sanity at times like this. they seemed reasonably put together enough, as i, well, now i felt myself coming apart slowly. i was weak, the good life and fine scotch had made me soft, the woman had made me comfortable. now my feet ached, i needed drink constantly or vicodin or ephedrine to keep me putting one foot in front of the other. the nights blending and days bleed into nights, the streets soon all looked the same and my feet were dragging behind me, and i was dragging long behind them, head bumping against cold asphalt. like driving down the street with a frozen turkey tied to your back bumper.
the women here all looked the same. short and stocky. built strong. these women were of two types. the short, artistic, moccasin wearing type. or the tall, lanky, face covered in make-up type. it was caked on. i wondered where the variety here was with so many damn folks roaming around, and there wasn't any variety. you were either one or the either. and that's all i saw, duplicates of duplicates. a copy of a copy of a copy. each time, dwindling down more and more, become more and more diluted in their dreams, aspirations, and apologies.
the women here all looked the same. short and stocky. built strong. these women were of two types. the short, artistic, moccasin wearing type. or the tall, lanky, face covered in make-up type. it was caked on. i wondered where the variety here was with so many damn folks roaming around, and there wasn't any variety. you were either one or the either. and that's all i saw, duplicates of duplicates. a copy of a copy of a copy. each time, dwindling down more and more, become more and more diluted in their dreams, aspirations, and apologies.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
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